


The Lord of Greystoke

by humapuma



Series: The Adventures of Tarzan and Bucky [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Tarzan - Edgar Rice Burroughs
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tarzan Fusion, American Civil War vet! Bucky, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bucky Barnes Feels, Colonial Africa, Come Eating, Embedded Images, Fanart, First Time, Frottage, Internalized Homophobia, Language Barrier, Legend of Tarzan AU, M/M, Mangani, Mercenary Bucky, Multiple Orgasms, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rimming, Shrunkyclunks, Tarzan! Steve, kind of, tarzan au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-07-20 00:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19982965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humapuma/pseuds/humapuma
Summary: Bucky Barnes survived the the American Civil War but never left the battlefield behind. He joined Hydra, a mercenary group, and for the last few years, he's done a lot of terrible things. On a mission, he gets lost in the Wakandan jungle and comes across a man he believes to be the victim of some terrible crime.There were scars all over this man’s body, some of which seemed like leopard scratches and even what may have been old bullet wounds. His hair was wild and filthy, cascading over his shoulders. Really, the man was quite filthy in general. Some spots, though, Bucky was sure were massive bruises instead of dirt, and they reminded Bucky of the photographs of gorilla attack survivors.Gorilla attacks. Leopard scratches. Bullet wounds.“Oh God,” Bucky gasped. “Y-you’re him... You’re the Ape-Man! They... they were right..!”





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **PLEASE READ**  
>  This story is much closer to Burroughs' original characterization. This Tarzan can speak and is very smart; he wasn't raised by gorillas but by the Mangani and they, too, could speak. Bucky is a Civil War veteran and I've tried really hard to be as accurate as I can be.  
> Thank you to Dixons_Mama, Cosmic_Mushroom, BeBeafortheweekend, and everyone else who has helped so far! This is a WIP but I'm working away, I promise!
> 
> I made the collage =3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the embedded art by the wonderful and talented [@emdibuja](https://twitter.com/emdibuja)! She made such a beautiful work and I'm honored to share it with you all.
> 
> There is now embedded art in the Prologue and chapters 2, 3, 4, and 7!!

_6 June 1837_

_We leave New York today for Cape Town. My dear Sarah’s Uncle Aldrich has passed away without heirs of his own. As a result, the land he owned now goes to her. She tells me that she spent time there as a girl and that his acreage is some of the most beautiful land in the world._

_I have my doubts. I, myself, have never been outside of New York, let alone away from my country. But I will keep good spirits for Sarah._

_Her belly has grown so large and she’s sure it’s a boy, though I don’t know how she can tell. She says she wishes to name him Steven, after her father. Lord Steven Rogers of Greystoke. I am pleased with the name, truly, and gave her my full blessing._

_Dear Steven, my son, you will grow up in a strange land but, one day, you will return to your true home._

_Joseph Rogers, Lord of Greystoke_

_15 June 1837_

_I find myself quite seasick on this journey. Sarah cares for me and helps me clean myself up but reminds me that, once Steven is born, I will have to do this for myself. She is joking, of course. There is more than a month before he will join us._

_I jested with her that he should be born on the 4_ _ th _ _of July but she begged me no! “Sooner,” she pleads as she laughs. Her hay-colored hair shines in the bright, sunshine every day and I hope his hair is the same._

_My Sarah is the most beautiful creature I’ve ever beheld and I pray that Steven is even half as perfect as she is._

_Joseph Rogers, Lord of Greystoke_

_20 June 1837_

_The seas are terrible and dark no matter how many days we travel south. We should never have left America for this God forsaken place. Sarah remains in good spirits though I fear for her most – her, and our son, Steven. She hopes to give birth in Cape Town but I know not if we will arrive in time. The journey has already been delayed by two weeks due to this weather._

_The Captain promises it is unseasonable and will pass, that we will arrive within the month but these storms frighten me. The clouds turn so dark and the waves shift us farther away from our destination. I could have sworn I saw the coast, but that cannot be._ _Were we that near to land, the Captain would tell us._

_But I was so sure I could see it. My Sarah tells me I am merely nervous, that these spells will cease once we arrive at our new home._

_Home. That is what she calls it now. To me, this wicked land could never be our home but the land Sarah has inherited must be claimed. We will be far more wealthy than I could ever have dreamed._

_My son, Steven, will have every advantage and every possible thing he desires. The finest clothes and education will be his._

_Joseph Rogers, Lord of Greystoke_

_3 July 1837_

_The storm must have thrust the ship into rocks. Sarah and I were the only survivors that I could find. Thank God the boat was intact otherwise we may have died too. My Sarah is in pain, crying that our son will come soon._

_Steven… we will arrive safely at our new home. You will have everything you could ever want, my son._

_Joseph Rogers, Lord of Greystoke_

_6 July 1837_

_My Sarah died last night. I could not stop the bleeding, so I held her in my arms until she was gone._

_I tried to hold my son after, but I felt nothing. He is small and cries so much. I must admit that I fear for the creatures that hear him in the jungle at night. I fear the sounds I hear surrounding us in the dark._

_Steven… I make no further promises for the life you will have – I only pray that you will have one._

* * *

_1869_

Bucky was _lost_. He’d been separated from the group hours ago and had wandered through the jungle alone ever since. He hoped that he’d see sign of them somewhere. He kept his hand on his Colt Army Model, the one he’d brought home with him when he’d returned to Brooklyn after the war. He knew it would do nothing to save him from a gorilla or a leopard, but he also knew no Barnes went down without a fight.

This gun had saved his hide ten times over and had received just as many purchase offers back home as well as in the market the day before. _Christ_ , he thought, _it feels like it’s been years, but it was only yesterday._

He leaned against a large tree trunk to rest, taking a small drink from his canteen. He tried to picture _home_. When he’d left, they had just begun construction on the East River Bridge. His folks had taken him to see it before his departure but there was very little there yet.

He wondered what it looked like now; he wondered if he’d ever get to see it complete. He shook himself then and pushed away from the tree to keep walking.

He heard terrible sounds all around him but had to continue on. As the sky began to turn light, Bucky swore he recognized landmarks he had passed the day before. Sure he was finally nearing the camp, Bucky tried to walk faster, but a loud thumping sound brought him to a screaming halt.

Bucky spun around, prepared to shoot a leopard or some other vicious predator, but stopped. There, crouched in the massive leaves of some jungle plant that Bucky would never know the name of, was a man. A _beautiful_ man. His skin was golden tan and freckled; from beneath his long, ratty blond hair stared anxious, piercing blue eyes.

Bucky held his left hand up as he holstered his gun, slowly. He hadn’t meant to frighten him. Bucky swallowed and said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t – I didn’t mean to scare you. I was... I was just startled.” The blond man made no move from his spot, barely blinking as Bucky spoke.

Bucky’s mouth dropped open as the man stood, though remained in a crouch that Bucky associated with the apes he’d seen. His body was massive – also, much like the apes Bucky’d seen – and he was _nude_. Bucky looked away, sure this man had been the victim of some terrible crime and needed to preserve some dignity. That was until Bucky a felt hard, calloused hand on his neck. Surprised, he turned and jerked away, tripping on a thick tree root and landing heavily on his butt.

The man, too, jumped away, hiding himself behind the leaves again with a terrified expression.

“Shit,” Bucky sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually this jumpy.” The man watched Bucky with wide, frightened eyes. “Do you need help, sir? Are you hurt?” Bucky asked, pushing himself to his feet and taking a step forward. “Were you attacked by natives or something?” The man blinked and cocked his head; the fear was replaced with confusion and Bucky felt a cool anxiety travel up his spine. “Sir?” He asked, his breath speeding up. “Wh-what is your name?”

The blond began to move slowly out of the bushes and Bucky was, again, shocked by his unabashed nudity. A gentleman, even a commoner, would try to conceal himself, ask for a covering – _something_. He stood again, slouched a bit as if the movement were foreign to him, but still did not answer. Bucky let himself look – really look. It was in that moment that he realized he was addressing no gentleman.

There were scars all over this man’s body, some of which seemed like leopard scratches and even what may have been old bullet wounds. His hair was wild and filthy, cascading over his shoulders. Really, the man was quite filthy in general. Some spots, though, Bucky was sure were massive bruises instead of dirt, and they reminded Bucky of the photographs of gorilla attack survivors.

_Gorilla attacks. Leopard scratches. Bullet wounds._

“Oh God,” Bucky gasped. “Y-you’re him... You’re the Ape-Man! They... they were right...”


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Here is the next bit. I cannot wait to post more, so it will be up soon. :) <3

__

_The Day Before_

They stood before King T’Challa in the royal palace and Rumlow spread his lies about why they’d come to Wakanda. Bucky remained silent and kept his eyes down. It was not the way of the Wakandan people, he knew, but he had more reasons than one to avoid the gaze of the king.

“Your Majesty,” Rumlow said, “we are burdened with glorious purpose. My associates and I are missionaries, seeking to spread the word of God.”

Bucky glanced up and saw T’Challa’s lips quirk in a smile. “‘The word of God,’ you say. Is this your Christian God you bring to us?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Rumlow confirmed.

A Dora Milaje warrior twitched and Bucky bit his cheek to keep from speaking. While T’Challa spoke to his guard in his native tongue, he kept his eyes on Bucky and he _knew_ Bucky could understand him.

He knew and he _remembered_ who Bucky was.

“You will not be permitted to bring your beliefs to my people,” T’Challa said with an air of finality. “You will not be permitted to wander my lands unescorted. I give you until tomorrow to leave the Capital.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty,” Rumlow said and turned, walking out of the throne room quickly. Bucky released a shaky breath and followed, glancing once more at the King before he rushed after Rumlow. “What were they saying to each other?” He demanded of Bucky in a harsh whisper.

Shaking his head, he answered, “I couldn’t hear them.”

He couldn’t tell if Rumlow believed that but it wasn’t a lie. He couldn’t _hear_ them but he could read their lips with some accuracy. “[These are no missionaries. They come for _him_. They will chase after a ghost until disease or the jungle takes them.]”

“We’ll be heading out tomorrow,” Rumlow said as they took seats at a table where Dum Dum, Gabe, and Dino sat, waiting for them. “The King denied our request so we’ll make it appear we’ve heeded his command to leave Birnin Zana.”

Bucky looked up. “But we’re not?”

Rumlow grinned. “We’ll leave the capital, yes, but we’ve got our orders.”

Bucky dropped his gaze but nodded. He had no right to question this mission or its morality. Not after the things he’d done.

Rollins scoffed, “The King is clearly protecting the –”

“Shh!” Rumlow hissed, looking around them. It was evening and the tavern they sat in was crowded with Wakandans. “Keep your fuckin’ voice down, Rollins,” he ordered.

This entire mission made Bucky sick to his stomach but he kept his mouth shut and his head down. Rumlow kept an eye on him, especially after what he’d caught Bucky doing with that whore in Senegal. Bucky shuddered, remembering the disgusting smile he had on his face.

Bucky rubbed his neck and stood up from the table. “Where are _you_ goin’?” Rumlow almost snarled.

“I’m gonna go look around,” he explained as he turned to leave.

Making his way back into the noise of the market, Bucky took a deep breath and began walking. He wanted to find something to buy for his ma, something she’d show the neighbors with pride. Wandering from merchant to merchant, he eyed their wares curiously.

The jewelry was strange – all set in a dark metal he didn’t recognize, the same metal that was everywhere in the city. It was in the locals’ weaponry, their homes, and even in their clothes. No one knew much about the ore except that it came from Wakanda. It looked nothing like the steel they’d been using to build the Brooklyn Bridge. It wasn’t silver or gold but, whatever it was, he knew it was part of the reason Rumlow had drug them to this country.

He’d claimed that this mission came from President Johnson but Bucky didn’t believe that. He knew Hydra didn’t operate under any government and, after the war, he didn’t think the President wanted to be involved in the dealings of an organization like it.

Hydra, he’d heard, still sold slaves. That wasn’t their mission here but he knew their team wasn’t the only one in the region.

As he approached a stall, he noticed two men holding hands next to him, but turned away. Perhaps Wakanda was more accepting of… but that did not make it _right_.

As he browsed, he listened to the conversations around him. The Wakandan people trusted few whites and allowed even fewer to learn their language and customs. As a result, they never worried that an American man standing nearby may understand their conversation.

“[Nyeupe Sokwe,]” a woman said, catching Bucky’s attention. _White Ape_. “[He killed more slavers. My cousin was nearly taken but he swooped down from the vines, like the old stories!]”

The older woman she spoke to crossed her arms over her chest and bowed her head. “[Merciful Bast, are you a fool? That evil spirit will put a curse on your family.]”

“[You truly believe he is not a servant of Bast, defending our land like the great Panther?]”

“[Our lands need no defender but the Panther.]”

Bucky had to keep himself from snorting. The locals truly believed in some ghost story? They were as ignorant as Rumlow.

As a child, Bucky had heard tales of the Nyeupe Sokwe and his deeds. The people of the border village he grew up in would tell him stories of the White Ape freeing slaves, killing poachers, protecting the animals. He was raised by apes, they said, and befriended by jungle cats. They would sing his legend and his mother would translate it for him.

“ _For many moons, he was thought to be an evil spirit – a ghost in the trees. They speak of his power over the animals of the jungle because his spirit came from them. He understood them and learned to conquer and be as one with them._

_His ape mother, Kala, loved him as her own; his ape brother, Akut, treated him with kindness and respect. He considered all men to be his enemies since tribes would hunt his troop as a rite of passage._

_King T’Chaka knew what he was and said that no other man ever started with less._ ”

But, in his youth, Bucky had never seen even a hint of him or heard his legendary call. By the time he and his family had returned to America, Bucky was sure it had all been a line the whites were fed to scare them out of the country. King T’Chaka, T’Challa’s father, had never wasted resources hunting for a ghost.

Bucky found his mother a diamond brooch in the shape of a flower he didn’t recognize, then he returned to the inn for the night.

On the outside, the people of Wakanda appeared ordinary; they allowed whites in their borders for some trade and commerce, but beyond that, they were secretive. While the nations surrounding them had been colonized for their minerals or for slaves, Wakanda remained independent and strong. King T’Challa’s palace had been lit with electricity, Bucky was certain of it, but he had to light an oil lamp to see in his room at night.

He held the brooch up to the flame, squinting to try and see it better. The artisan had happily taken his money but gave Bucky no smile or farewell. European and American visitors were few and far between, which ensured that his group stood out. It also meant that the Dora Milaje would be watching them to ensure they left.

When he slept, he dreamt of flying through the jungle like a bird.

“Get up, Barnes,” Rumlow ordered, yanking Bucky back to waking life.

It was before dawn, still, and he quickly gathered his belongings, tucking them into his bag. He wrapped the brooch in a shirt before he slipped it in. After a moment of thought, he slid his small leather bound sketchbook into his pocket, along with the tiny sliver of a pencil he still had.

They left the city to begin their trek toward the Panther Mountain. The air was already thick with humidity as they made their way through the trees. It wasn’t long before they caught their first glimpse of it, though once it was in sight, they stopped to stare in awe at it.

“Damn,” Bucky muttered, mouth agape. He’d forgotten how it looked – how massive and powerful. His fingers itched to sketch it.

Rumlow whistled but waved them on. “It’s impressive but we’ve got an ape to hunt.”

The sun was high in the sky when next someone spoke. “Where are we headed?” Rollins asked, adjusting his rifle strap on his shoulder.

“Jabari Land,” Rumlow answered, pointing toward the mountainous region north of The Golden City.

“Jabari?” Rollins questioned.

“The mountain tribe,” Bucky explained, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling his sleeves up. He’d long since removed his jacket and packed it away in his bag, already sweating through his white linen shirt. “They worship Hanuman.”

“Who the hell is ‘Hanuman’?” Rollins scoffed.

“The gorilla god,” Rumlow answered, turning to look at Rollins over his shoulder.

Bucky adjusted his gun belt, appreciating the familiar weight of the weapon on his hip. After returning from the war, the lack of it had left him feeling unsafe, anxious.

“Let’s rest a bit,” Rollins called out.

Rumlow glared but nodded his head. “Make it quick. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

Bucky moved behind a tree to relieve himself; he took a moment to swig some water and wiped the sweat off his forehead. He was about to return to the group when the sound of a branch snapping above him caught his attention. He looked up but could see nothing through the thick canopy. He listened for a moment longer, hearing birds and other animals calling out.

“Barnes, hurry up,” Rumlow called and Bucky made his way back to the group.

They followed Rumlow without question. Bucky believed that Rumlow had information on the location of the man killing the slavers. The _man_ , Bucky always emphasized, because he knew there was no such thing as Nyeupe Sokwe – no _White Ape_. Somewhere in this jungle, a man (or _men_ ) hunted and killed slavers sent by Hydra – and Bucky was here to kill him.

Hours passed and, when they next stopped, it was to set up camp for the night. Bucky struggled to find rest, surrounded by the sounds of the jungle – bird calls, roars, branches cracking, sniffing, and other less describable sounds. He’d slept like a baby with the sounds of the city in Brooklyn but this was something altogether different.

When he realized sleep would not come to him that night, Bucky crawled out of his tent, buckling his holster around his hips. The small fire had long since died and he tried to make his way in the dark to a spot to relieve himself. When he had finished, he buttoned his trousers and tried to recall the direction he’d come from. The jungle all looked the same in the dark. _Hell_ , it looked the same in the light, too.

Then, there came the cracking of branches above him, and leaves fell onto Bucky’s shoulders. He gasped and turned, looking up and squinting in the dark, trying to see something. There was a strange sound, some kind of animal call. It was a quavering whistle, one he’d heard before as a child; it was followed by the purr of what Bucky thought was a pigeon, or a dove, but whatever was up there was far larger.

He began stepping backward, mindless of his surroundings, and he hardly had a chance to shout when he took another step and there was no ground. He fell backward, rolling down a steep incline. The hard roots smacked him as he went, losing no momentum from their impact.

When he finally slowed, he coughed and sobbed, trying to pull air back into his lungs. He rolled onto his back and felt the sketchbook jabbing him in his pocket. He took stock of his body – his arm throbbed but he could still move it; his leg burned and he imagined it had been scraped on the way down. He hoped he wasn’t bleeding.

That wasn’t a good idea in this place.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last! So, once again, this story is closer to Burroughs' original characterization - Tarzan is very smart and the Mangani communicate in their own language.
> 
> One, massive THANK YOU to [vita-divata](https://vita-divata.tumblr.com) for the beautiful art in this chapter!!
> 
> Let me know what you think!

__

_The Next Morning_

Bucky opened his eyes and stared up at the canopy far above him. He’d _fainted_. Bucky Barnes had fainted.

That had never happened before. He’d seen and done _horrible_ things. Men, old and young – _children_ , really – massacred in the name of cessation. He’d slit men’s throats in their sleep, while they dreamt of a better life. He’d murdered husbands and fathers, sons and brothers. He’d watched comrades die, lose limbs, steadily decay from gangrene.

The greed of the wealthy sent poor men into battle for reasons they didn’t understand.

But through it all, he’d never fainted.

He rubbed his face with both hands, grimacing at the feel of the sweat and grime on his skin. It wasn’t as if living in Brooklyn with the rest of the Irish immigrants meant he was always washed but this was different.

Just then, he heard a huffing sound and he froze in place. He looked over, slowly, and found its source: the feral man he’d seen before.

This had to be the Ape-Man Rumlow was ordered to kill – the ghost in the darkness that murdered slavers and disappeared. Crouched at Bucky’s side, he held no sign of agitation or aggression. In fact, he looked incredibly _curious_. He leaned forward and sniffed Bucky’s shirt, then up along his chest to the spot where it separated, exposing his collar bone. When the Ape-Man's breath ghosted across his skin, Bucky dug his nails into his palms, distracting himself with the sting.

He couldn’t ignore the way his skin flushed or the flood of warmth that spread through his belly.

The man nosed along Bucky’s neck, across his jaw, to his cheek, and then his hair. He had to get away. This wasn’t _proper_.

Bucky sat up, slowly, and pushed himself away, all the while keeping his eyes on the Ape-Man. “I – I’m James,” he stuttered, touching a hand to his chest. “ _James_.”

Blinking, the other man copied his gesture. “James.”

Bucky gasped, but shook his head, moving to his knees. “No, no, no,” he said, pressing his hand to his chest again. “ _James_.”

The Ape-Man moved to his knees about two feet before Bucky and reached out. He had no sense of appropriate personal boundaries, leaning even closer and maintaining eye contact. For the first time, Bucky caught sight of the man’s hands – they were _large_ , almost malformed. They looked like the hands of a gorilla with long palms and crooked fingers. His skin felt just as calloused as Bucky remembered from before, when the Ape-Man had touched his neck.

Pressing his hand over Bucky’s, the man held his gaze and said, “James.”

His voice was deep but smooth and it flowed over Bucky like melted sugar. Nodding, Bucky tried to smile. “Yes, I’m James.” He knew it was unlikely the man would respond – after all, the old stories told that he’d been raised by gorillas. Where would he have learned to speak? But Bucky asked anyway. “Do – do you have a name?”

The man furrowed his brow, looking away for a moment. “Name,” he repeated, thinking.

“Yes!” Bucky replied, excitedly. “My _name_ is James.” Then he waited a moment before asking, “What are you called?” The man looked up and frowned but did not answer. Bucky was suddenly struck by a strange idea and asked the same question in Wakandan.

The man’s eyes widened and he gave a small smile, pressing his other hand to his chest. “Nyeupe Sokwe.”

“White Ape,” Bucky whispered, unable to hold himself back. “[You can understand me? You speak Wakandan?]”

Swallowing, the blond man said, “[Not… much. No practice.]”

“[Who taught you?]”

He leaned forward a bit and replied, “[The children. They call me Nyeupe Sokwe.]”

Bucky couldn’t help but move back, trying to maintain some sort of distance between them. “[What children?]” He asked, leaning back on his hands.

The Ape-Man blinked and sat back a bit, seeming to recognize Bucky’s uneasiness. “[From the village,]” he explained.

Sitting up more comfortably, Bucky asked, “[What should _I_ call you?]”

He thought for only a moment before he answered, “Tarzan.”

He did something strange then, something Bucky couldn’t really explain. He puffed his chest out and made short, huffing sounds and it reminded Bucky of a time, long before, when he’d seen a gorilla at the zoo.

“Tar-zan?” Bucky repeated, slowly, as if feeling the word.

Tarzan nodded and asked, “[What are you?]”

Bucky was shocked by the question. “[I’m a man. That’s what you are too.]”

Tarzan’s brows furrowed and he shook his head. “[No.]”

“[Who told you you’re not?]”

“[I’m Mangani,]” he explained and Bucky felt a cold shiver run down his spine

Horrifying stories of the Mangani had filled his childhood with fear of getting lost in the jungle. The villagers warned his family to never wander off in the dark. They told tales of children lured off at night, hearing someone calling out to them, calling them _by name_.

Tarzan continued, “[Men… men kill my family. They try to kill me. I’m not like them.]”

Bucky swallowed, running a hand through his hair. He wanted to seem encouraging, to tell this Ape-Man that he was different, but he knew that was a lie. “[Why are you helping me then?]”

Tarzan’s eyes widened and, again, he looked unsure, anxious. Without thinking, Bucky reached out and placed his hand over the other man’s heart. His chest was heavily muscled but he moved very fluidly; rather than lumbering about, he made hardly a sound.

Bucky swore he saw a blush on his golden skin but wasn’t sure. He chose to ignore it.

“[I’m lost,]” he explained, pausing to see if the man understood him. When he nodded, Bucky continued, “[Do you know how to get to Gorilla City?]” Though Bucky wasn’t honestly sure that he _should_ return to Rumlow, he had no better options.

“Jabari…” the Ape-Man breathed, eyes wide.

“Yes, yes, Jabari Land,” Bucky confirmed.

“M’baku, M’baku –” Tarzan stuttered but couldn’t seem to find the words to describe his fear.

Bucky gulped and collapsed back onto his butt, resting his arms on his knees. “Shit,” he breathed.

The Ape-Man thought for a moment and then backed up. He turned and Bucky was dumbfounded by the beauty of his form. He was massive with bulging muscles in his back, arms, and thighs. When he crouched down to move, as his learned state was more like that of a gorilla than a man, his back elongated. Bucky felt the heat of desire rise, followed swiftly by the shame of it.

He had always received his fair share of attention from women back home. He’d spent many a night dancing at parties, being introduced to young ladies as they came out. He knew the social mores and was never inappropriate and always told himself it was because he was a gentleman.

But that didn’t explain why a twenty-five year old from a good family was unmarried. It didn’t explain why he often looked at other men and preferred their company. It didn’t explain why he chose to pay a man for sex in Senegal. It didn’t explain why, when he pleasured himself, his thoughts turned to flat chests and muscular builds; to being held down and fucked.

No, he knew the explanation.

In that moment, faced with a beautiful, nude wild man, Bucky _knew_. He gulped and forced himself to look away.

“[Come,]” Tarzan said, watching Bucky and waiting until he moved.

Bucky nodded and followed behind, diligently keeping his eyes on the ground or surrounding area. The sun was up and the jungle had come alive with its light. That shouldn’t suggest that the jungle slept in the night – no, quite the opposite. The darkness awakened with frogs, birds, insects, and strange groaning sounds Bucky never wanted to know the source of.

Truly, he was certain the jungle hadn’t experienced a quiet moment since the dawn of time.

The sunlight, however, brought the trees and other plant life to full vibrancy; in the sunshine, he could see the bright colors on animals, flowers, and the Ape-Man’s hay-colored hair. His blue eyes were striking in the shade, but Bucky wanted to see how they would shine.

It was because of this that he continued to avoid eye contact, lest his depravity be known.

“James,” the man said, catching Bucky’s attention.

It was odd to hear. He’d given that name, assuming it was a gentleman, or at the very least a tradesman lost on his way to the Capital. But now, hearing the Ape-Man call him that seemed… wrong. After all, Bucky trusted him enough to follow him into the jungle. Why not trust him with this?

“It’s Bucky, actually,” he said and the Ape-Man stopped. He turned to look back and cocked his head. “Call me… oh, excuse me. [Call me Bucky.]”

The Ape-Man thought that over, then said, “Name. Name Bucky.”

Bucky gasped. Could he grasp English so easily? “Yes! I’m Bucky. That is _my_ name.”

Smiling brighter than ever before, Tarzan said, “My… name is Tarzan.”

“Yes!” He replied, smiling.

Tarzan nodded. His eyes moved over Bucky with continued curiosity and there was something _endearing_ in it. The way he watched Bucky’s movements and tried to mimic them, no matter how foreign. He turned to continue their trek through the jungle, checking behind him every few moments to confirm Bucky was still there.

As they went on, Bucky could not help but be struck by the strength and grace with which Tarzan moved. He would lift himself over obstacles with total ease. He never panted or struggled; his skin was slick with sweat but the exertion of their hike had little, if any, effect on him. The muscles in his back, chest, and arms bulged obscenely as he lifted Bucky over downed trees or rocks and, all the while, he _watched_ Bucky.

His eyes were… intense, _focused_ … Bucky’d never seen such eyes.

The jungle only became denser as their journey went on and Bucky began to stray behind. He was exhausted and hungry; his feet ached in his boots and his throat felt like parchment paper.

“Wait,” he called. “Please, I… I need to rest.”

Tarzan stopped and Bucky leaned against a tree. Turning, Tarzan eyed him curiously then crouched low, looking above himself. Bucky was about to ask what he was doing when he _leapt through the air_ and grabbed a vine. He drug it down with his body weight and, as Bucky watched, transfixed, he ripped it open.

“[Water,]” he said, bringing it to Bucky. “[Drink now.]”

Bucky did not have it in him to argue. He let the lukewarm water from the vine spill into his mouth and he drank and drank. He never thought to question how a man could so easily tear such a thick vine open. He didn’t even realize that Tarzan had gone until he returned, carrying what Bucky recognized as a papaya.

“[Eat,]” he ordered and Bucky nodded.

Tarzan took the vine and drank some water while Bucky fought the skin of the fruit. He finally reached for his knife only to realize it was missing. He sighed and was about to dig into it with his nails when Tarzan plucked it from his hands and tore it in half.

Bucky’s mouth fell open at such a display of strength but he took the offered food. He was shaking and lightheaded, but by the time he had finished most of the papaya, he was beginning to feel better.

“[Bucky sick?]” Tarzan asked with a look of concern on his face.

“[No,]” Bucky said, shaking his head and trying to smile. “[Better now. Thank you.]”

Tarzan smiled and did something Bucky had not expected at all. He ran his fingers through Bucky’s short hair, as if caressing him. It was made even stranger because Tarzan used the back of his hand with his fingers bent. Bucky wondered if he even _could_ extend them all the way, or if the bone structure was forever changed.

“[Come,]” Tarzan said. “[We get to Mangani land soon.]” He turned and began moving again.

“[Mangani?]” Bucky asked, standing and walking unsteadily. “[No, Jabari.]”

Tarzan shook his head. [Jabari land too far. You must rest.]

“[No, Tarzan, I need to –]” He tried to continue but was suddenly woozy.

He leaned against another tree and rubbed his face. He needed to get back to Rumlow and his men as quickly as possible. But, somehow, the idea of doing so seemed… unnecessary. Perhaps Tarzan could get him back to Birnin Zana and –

Then _what_? He had nowhere to go but back to Hydra, and they would never let him go.

“Bucky,” Tarzan said, pulling Bucky from his thoughts. “[Come to Mangani land and rest today. Go to Jabari land tomorrow.]” He suggested this, sounding far more logical than a nude, filthy Ape-Man standing in the jungle had _any_ right to.

He seemed so earnest and distressed by Bucky’s current state, though, it struck something in Bucky. Nodding his head, he followed behind Tarzan as they started to move again. He took several steps before, suddenly, a horrible thought occurred to him.

_Rumlow is here to kill Tarzan_.

He looked up and found Tarzan right in front of him, standing taller than ever. _Jesus_ , he thought, noting the six inch height difference. “[Bucky sick,]” he surmised and took Bucky’s arm, wrapped it around his own neck, and pulled until Bucky was draped over his back.

Until that moment, Bucky had maintained some semblance of sophistication in the presence of this gorgeous, nude Ape-Man but, at that moment, he stopped trying. He was weak and tired, feeling as though he might pass out at any moment, so he allowed Tarzan to carry him.

His eyelids felt heavy and he kept blinking, trying to stay alert but each time he looked up, it seemed they were in a new place. After quite a while, he was assaulted by a strange odor he’d never smelled before, and there were strange sounds all around him.

“Tarzan?” He whispered, noting that they were no longer moving.

He lifted his head and looked over Tarzan’s shoulder, finding a group of apes moving about. They were _large_ , bigger than any gorilla he’d ever seen – alive or dead – and they were _all_ looking at him.

“Oh, shit,” he whispered. Tarzan slowly lowered him to his feet, then pushed him hard in the middle of his back, forcing him to his knees. “Oh, shit!” He shouted as sudden and irrevocable terror struck him.

He’d allowed the Ape-Man to lure him into some sort of ambush. His depraved desires had turned him into a lamb for the slaughter.

“[Kneel, Bucky,]” he whispered. Bucky turned his head to find Tarzan there, crouched over him. _Protecting him_. “[Kneel and do not look him in the face. He will kill you if you do.]”

“[Who?]” Bucky asked, taking a deep breath.

Tarzan came nearer, hands on either side of Bucky’s shoulders. “Kerchak,” he answered, then he began to release those huffing breaths, though faster this time.

Bucky dug his fingers into the moist dirt and _prayed_ that this wouldn’t be his end – mauled by gorillas where no one would find his body for a hundred years. There was a loud, pounding that seemed to be coming closer, and it was moving _fast_.

Tarzan began making strange, harsh sounds and Bucky wanted to look up, to see what he was doing, but he didn’t dare move. The pounding stopped, then something even _stranger_ happened – Kerchak began making similar sounds, as if they were… communicating.

Their interaction continued to get louder and louder until it stopped, suddenly, and Bucky felt a heavy weight on his back. Tarzan had covered him with his body as Kerchak unleashed a barrage of heavy hits, beating Tarzan’s back. With each assault, he grunted and Bucky shut his eyes tightly, trying to forget that Tarzan’s naked form was on him.

As suddenly as the attack began, it stopped, and Kerchak made a coughing sound before Bucky heard him move away. Tarzan released a deep, pained breath and rolled onto his side, next to Bucky.

“Tarzan,” he breathed, opening his eyes to find the man pressed in close. “[Are you okay?]”

He nodded and gave Bucky a smile. “[He will leave you be now.]”

They stood up, though Tarzan was much slower than Bucky. They walked to a leafy pile that appeared worn down, as if it had been sat on or slept in and Bucky wondered if it was Tarzan’s nest. He was beaten badly and Bucky actually wondered if his arm was dislocated.

“Tarzan, your arm,” he said, touching it gently.

Tarzan jerked away but kept looking at Bucky. “Arm,” he repeated. “My arm.”

Bucky nodded. “Yes, your arm.”

“Bucky,” Tarzan said, then touched his lips in a gesture that clearly meant he wanted to speak more.

“You… want me to teach you?” He asked, cocking his head. “[Teach?]”

Tarzan nodded. “[Teach me.]”

Bucky nodded but said, “[Let me look at your arm and then we can do that.]”

When Bucky popped it back into place, Tarzan yelped, then sat up immediately. As if he felt no pain, he turned his attention to Bucky, eyes alight with curiosity. He grunted and huffed a little, touching his bare chest with his knuckles, then gesturing to the apes surrounding them. “[Family,]” he said, then pointed to his lips.

Bucky nodded. “Family,” he translated.

Tarzan smiled. “Family. My family.”

Bucky looked around them, seeing around fifteen apes. There were two large silver backs, which Bucky could identify easily. He saw several smaller apes, some of whom carried babies on their shoulders or in their arms, and he assumed they must be the females of the group. Bucky counted five young ones, rolling around and wrestling; watching over them were smaller, black-haired males. He could tell by the way that they carried themselves and pounded their chests.

One of the females moved closer to them and, against her breast, she carried a baby. Bucky smiled, pointing at it. “Baby.”

Tarzan followed his finger and repeated the word. “Baby.”

Bucky nodded, then a strange but disturbing thought occurred to him. “[Do you… have one?]”

Tarzan’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “[I am... wrong, Bucky. Born wrong. No Mangani would have me.]”

Looking him over, Bucky couldn’t imagine what there was that could even remotely be considered _deformed_. But it made sense; Tarzan believed he was an ape and, since he looked nothing like those around him, deformity could explain it.

“Tarzan,” he said, “[you called him Kerchak. Do… they all have names?]”

Tarzan nodded and pointed to the other silverback. “[Brother, Akut.]”

Bucky looked over at him and said, “Brother. Your brother, Akut.”

Tarzan repeated, “My brother.”

Bucky nodded his head. “Yes, that’s it!”

Kerchak continued to eye Bucky warily, never turning his back, but he didn’t approach again. The smaller males paid Bucky little attention, or so he thought. Two of them seemed to inch closer, though they did so by acting very strangely. One would climb up on a small, thin tree then yanked it down to break it; the other pounded his chest and stomped over the tall leafy plants, flattening them. Bucky glanced at the Ape-Man to find him smirking, a hint of ruefulness on his face.

Trying to stay perfectly still, Bucky kept his face pointed down so as to not attract attention. The first gorilla, one a bit smaller than the other, moved slowly behind Bucky, stomping down more leaves. Tarzan watched it through narrowed eyes. Without warning, Bucky felt a sharp kick to his back and rolled forward to escape what he was sure would be a vicious attack.

But the gorilla simply walked away. He sat back up and heard the cracking of tree limbs too late, only a moment before he was bowled over by the second one. He wasn’t injured at all, mostly surprised.

This time, however, Tarzan reared up and pounded his own chest, grunting a little.

The two apes immediately rushed away without looking back. Bucky felt both terrified and exhilarated – the apes were _playing_ with him, _teasing him_. Playing together. The silverback had even diverted his attention to a female – or what Bucky thought was a female – and picked insects from her fur.

Bucky turned to the Ape-Man, catching him smiling at the scene. He looked at Bucky and said, “[Mother.]”

Bucky frowned. The way that Kerchak stroked her was very much like how Tarzan had touched Bucky before, letting his fingers run through her hair. “That’s your… Mother?”

Tarzan nodded. “Mother,” he said. “Kala.”

Bucky looked at her, noting how she, too, had a wariness in her eyes. “[Kerchak is your father?]”

Tarzan gave a huff and a half-shrug, something Bucky didn’t anticipate seeing him do. “[He is father to all of the Mangani children,]” he replied, cryptically.

Bucky watched them for a bit longer, observing the tiny things that Kerchak did to Kala. He wondered if they were gestures of affection.

He watched as the others began to eat various plants and he worried they may be poisonous. They ate very strangely, though; they plucked a stem of leaves and used their other hand to drag along the stalk, pulling the leaves off. They shoved all of them into their mouths, them chewed off some bamboo, as if… for flavor.

At that moment, he felt his stomach rumble and realized he hadn’t eaten since the night before. Tarzan heard it and made a grunting sound before hurrying away. When he returned, he was carrying some of the leafy stems and bamboo shoots; they stuck out of his arms haphazardly and Bucky had to stifle a laugh.

“[What are you doing?]” He asked, grinning even though he tried to stop.

Tarzan crouched next to him and set the plants at his feet. “[Eat,]” he said, then did as the other apes had. However, rather than eat the leaves himself, he held them out to Bucky, smiling. “[Eat,]” he repeated.

Bucky licked his lips and nodded, taking them and forcing all of them in his mouth. The bitterness was almost too much for him, but Tarzan pushed the bamboo at him.

“[Eat,]” he repeated and Bucky nodded again.

He grabbed the bamboo stalk and nibbled off the green end; it filled his mouth with a savory flavor that actually made the leaves taste better. As he chewed, under the ever watchful eye of Tarzan, he heard a bird call, one he remembered from his youth. He looked up and smiled, remembering how he’d sketched birds as a boy.

As the bird disappeared in the canopy, he heard the call again, though it had come from much closer. He turned to Tarzan and watched his lips twitch as he imitated the sound again. Bucky’s smile grew wider and brighter as he watched Tarzan’s mimicry.

Bucky swallowed his mouthful and said, “[You can make bird sounds?]”

Tarzan nodded and grinned. “[Many.]”

“[Do they respond to your calls?]” Bucky asked.

He cocked his head, confused. “[Birds recognize sounds but they don’t come this low much.]”

Bucky frowned, having had the strongest desire to see and sketch them again. “Oh,” he said and piled more leaves into his mouth followed by bamboo.

Tarzan’s expression became unreadable – not that Bucky had been able to decipher much of what the Ape-Man was thinking before then. After a moment, Tarzan began to eat too and they spent the rest of their meal in silence. Bucky looked around, noting that, while Kerchak seemed to show him little interest, the other silverback, Akut, watched Bucky like a hawk.

Several of the apes began to lie back and doze off once they’d finished eating. Tarzan didn’t seem as intent on him, so Bucky chewed his lip, trying to decide what his next step should be. He knew he needed to get to Gorilla City as soon as possible, but he had no map, no compass, and no knowledge of this land.

Tarzan had promised to lead him to Jabari land, but Bucky feared for Tarzan’s safety if Rumlow found them.

He heaved a sigh, leaning back against a tree, and took a moment to look around. Nearby, a female ape sat, carrying her baby in one arm and eating bamboo stalks with the other. Bucky pulled the small sketchbook and pencil from his pocket and opened to a blank page. There were less than a dozen sheets left and he wondered, idly, if he’d have the chance to buy a new one.

Deciding it best not to think too much on that, he began to draw a sleeping baby ape. It wasn’t a struggle since the mother seemed perfectly happy to show her baby off. Bucky was sure that she was leaning forward to allow him to see it more easily.

When he was finished, he flashed the mother a smile and a nod, though wasn’t quite sure if she could understand what either meant. It was quite a shock to him when she nodded her head back and released a few grunting sounds that were of a slightly higher pitch than those of the male apes.

He glanced over to find that Tarzan, too, was sleeping, and Bucky flipped the page. It was a much more difficult rendering because Bucky was too nervous to openly stare at him, but he made do with stolen glances.

It wasn’t long after the majority of the apes had fallen asleep that Bucky felt breath on his neck. He turned to find Tarzan there, staring over his shoulder at the paper. His eyes were wide and serious as he looked it over. Bucky bit his lip and flipped the pages for him, letting Tarzan see the drawings of Birnin Zana and the palace, then his work went further back. He showed Tarzan the sketches of his mother and sister, of his father, of his home.

“[This is my world,]” he said, smiling.

Tarzan swallowed and zeroed in on one picture Bucky had done; it was a red cardinal he’d drawn somewhere in Brooklyn. He remembered that day and how happy he’d been that the bird had stayed so still for him.

Tarzan blinked and then looked at Bucky. “[Let me show you mine,]” he offered, moving away from the sleeping troop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?? =D


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some *action* and a little emotion. :D
> 
> Thank you to [MaxKennedy24](https://maxkennedy24.tumblr.com/) for the amazing and beautiful art in this chapter!
> 
> Enjoy!

Bucky followed, tucking the book and pencil back into his pocket as he rushed after him. Tarzan led him almost fifty meters from the apes and took hold of a hanging vine. Bucky wondered if he meant to get water again, but instead, Tarzan stood to his impressive height and grunted at Bucky.

“[Come,]” he said, gesturing for Bucky to step closer. When he did, he waited to see what Tarzan would do next. He nearly yelped in surprise when Tarzan took hold of his arms and wrapped them around his shoulders. “[Hold,]” he said, maintaining eye contact with Bucky.

He waited until Bucky nodded before he began to _climb_ , lifting them both off of the ground. Bucky had grown thinner in his service to Hydra, but he was still quite muscular, yet Tarzan hauled him up the vine as if he weighed nothing. Bucky noticed, also, that Tarzan used his toes to aid in the climbing but all Bucky needed to do was _hold on_.

They must have climbed sixty meters into the air before they hit the canopy, and Tarzan hefted them onto a thick branch. He was panting and a little sweaty, but otherwise showed no indication that he’d climbed such a distance with a 180 pound weight attached to him.

Tarzan released the vine and began to move toward the tree trunk. Bucky gulped; he’d never had a fear of heights but he shivered as he scooted forward, staring intently at the tree bark.

“Bucky,” Tarzan said and Bucky looked up.

He reached out and Bucky took a few deep breaths before he allowed one hand to leave the branch. Tarzan took it and held him steady as they climbed onto a higher branch and into the thick, leafy canopy. There, Bucky was assaulted by vibrant colors and the most beautiful calls he had ever heard.

Tarzan touched his hair again, as he had done earlier, and with just as much of whatever feeling had been there before. “[Draw?]” He suggested in a hushed voice, touching his own lips.

Bucky smiled. “Draw,” he translated and had the most intense desire to run his own hands through Tarzan’s hair, matted and filthy though it was. He suppressed it, however, and slowly moved up to another branch where he could sit and see the birds.

He stared in awe at the number of them, at the color of their feathers, and at the way they paid him almost no mind at all. When he looked over, Tarzan was watching him with a soft expression and Bucky felt heat in his cheeks. The Ape-Man may have been beautiful, but Bucky knew it was impossible for him to be attracted to Bucky.

That sort of aberration was only in him.

He turned back to his drawing. They remained there for what could have been hours, though Bucky wasn’t aware of the time passing. A strange scraping sound came from below them and all of the many birds flew away in a panic. Bucky almost called out to them, as if he could calm them and convince them to stay.

He turned to Tarzan and found an almost _angry_ expression on his face. Bucky tucked the sketchbook away, unsure if Tarzan intended to push him to his death or not. “Tarzan?” He asked, ignoring the quiver in his voice.

At that moment, Bucky heard rustling of branches and Tarzan leapt for him, tackling him _out of the canopy_. Bucky gripped Tarzan’s shoulders and screamed in a manly way. He hadn’t known he’d die this way, pushed out of a tree by a wild man, but the strangest thing happened.

They were moving, but not _down_. Bucky looked around and found they were flying, soaring through the trees like birds. He turned to Tarzan and found that he was swinging on a vine again. _They_ were swinging on a vine.

They landed rather inelegantly in an adjacent tree and Tarzan set Bucky down before turning around. He kept Bucky behind him and _growled_. Bucky pressed his back to the trunk. He yanked his revolver from its holster, feeling like a fool for having forgotten it was there, but he didn’t aim it.

Not yet. He couldn’t risk hurting Tarzan.

Then, a moment later, a large leopard sprung from the canopy of the other tree. It shouldn’t have been able to leap so far but Bucky was sure it would land right on Tarzan, and he shouted, “Look out!”

For his part, Tarzan did not heed Bucky’s advice and, instead, jumped off of the branch and tackled the cat midair. Bucky screamed, rushing forward; Tarzan and the leopard had landed on a thick branch below and were trying to circle one another. Bucky holstered the gun and grabbed a vine, unsure how he could be of any help, and released a deep breath. He wrapped both legs around the plant and began to scoot down, holding tight to it with both hands.

He was able to scramble onto a smaller branch; the perch wasn’t one he would have liked but he grabbed the gun and aimed it. If Tarzan was in danger, he’d take the shot.

The leopard rushed forward, tackling Tarzan to his back and swiping at his chest. Bucky saw the blood from the wound, but Tarzan fended it off, using his foot to kick it away. He got to his feet again and Bucky shut one eye, keeping the leopard in his sight.

“Tarzan!” He shouted, “[Get down!]”

For once, Tarzan didn’t question him and dropped to his belly. Bucky pulled the trigger and the creature howled before falling off the branch. The sound of the gun echoed among the trees for several moments.

Bucky took a breath and holstered the gun again, then sat so his back pressed against the tree. Tarzan swung to the ground and crouched back down, walking on his knuckles toward the leopard’s body. Bucky watched, worried the animal would spring to life but nothing happened.

Tarzan nudged it roughly once with the back of his hand; there was no movement. He huffed a breath and reared up, pounding his chest before slamming both of his fists onto the ground on either side of the leopard’s body. He repeated this action twice, as if asserting himself over the dead animal – as if proving his power over it.

He _roared_ and the sound sent shivers down Bucky’s spine. The sound undulated but there was a rough, raspy timbre to it that seemed to go on and on.

Bucky wondered, _was that Tarzan’s legendary call_?

Tarzan huffed again before turning away from the leopard. Bucky watched him climb a vine, though he used only one arm and his feet to do it. When he pulled himself onto the branch, he winced at the scratch on his chest. Bucky wanted to reach out and touch him, to check him over; he wanted to make sure he was okay.

But he wouldn’t do that.

Instead, Bucky asked, “[Are you alright?]”

Tarzan’s eyes focused on him then. “Bucky,” he breathed, scooting forward and Bucky bit his lip to keep from saying something – anything. “[You saved me. You saved my _life_.]” Bucky shook his head, willing his arms to work, to push Tarzan away. “[You did,]” Tarzan reaffirmed, reaching out and touching Bucky’s wrist with his large, calloused hand. “Bucky. My Bucky.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “What did you say?” Tarzan frowned and cocked his head. “[What did you say?]” Bucky translated but Tarzan didn’t answer. Instead, he moved closer and wrapped his arm around Bucky’s waist, hoisting him up as if he were a bag of flour. “T-Tarzan,” he stuttered in confusion, but Tarzan ignored him and gripped a vine.

They swung to the ground and Bucky found solid footing, but Tarzan hesitated to release him. He remained standing at his full height, though it was clear that he was unused to it as he still held onto the vine. He looked down at Bucky, staring into his eyes with an unreadable expression.

Bucky trembled at the intensity of his gaze but could not look away. Tarzan raised his hand and gently brushed his bent fingers through Bucky’s hair before leaning in close, rubbing his nose across Bucky’s cheek.

Shivers raced down Bucky’s spine and he almost whined when Tarzan released him and began to move away.

They returned to the others and Bucky was confused to discover that they were leaving. Tarzan said nothing as he followed the group out of the nesting area they had made. Bucky hurried to keep up, though it was difficult. He’d never struggled so hard in his life but this terrain was rougher than any he’d been in before. The ground was uneven with tree roots, rocks, and various plants; his boots were acceptable but he worried he’d twist his ankle, or worse, if he wasn’t careful.

Tarzan noticed him slowing down and rushed back to him. “[Come,]” he said, taking Bucky’s arm to wrap around his neck.

Bucky wanted to argue but he couldn’t. Tarzan carried him for miles and miles as the Mangani traveled through the mountainous region. Bucky hoped they were moving closer to Jabari land, not further away, but he had no way to know.

When he awoke some time later, the sky was pitch black. He sat up, noting that an arm he hoped belonged to Tarzan was resting across his abdomen. He gently moved it and dug his lighter out of his pocket. It was poor light but it helped him traverse the area to avoid stepping on any sleeping Mangani.

He didn’t think Tarzan could protect him if one of them attacked him now.

He found a place behind a tree and unbuttoned his pants, sighing in relief. When he was done, he tucked himself back inside his trousers and began to make his way back. He was stopped, however, by a pair of curious blue eyes staring at him.

“Bucky,” Tarzan said in a low voice, “[are you leaving?]”

“[No, I had to… I needed privacy. For a minute.]” Tarzan cocked his head and touched his lips. Bucky was exhausted and didn’t really want to provide English lessons at – well, whatever time it was. However, he cleared his throat and said, “Privacy. I needed privacy.”

“Bucky needed privacy,” Tarzan repeated and Bucky nodded.

“Yes, I did,” he said.

“[What is that?]” Tarzan asked, gesturing to the lighter in Bucky’s hand.

He pressed the metal button, striking it against the flint, and the lighter ignited. Tarzan jumped backward, eyes wide and curious; he hesitated for a moment before moving closer again. He lifted his hand to touch, but Bucky pulled it away.

“[It’s a light,]” he answered, snapping the cover on. “[But it’s hot. It burns.]”

Tarzan’s expression was eager, as it usually was when Bucky would teach him something new. For his part, though, Bucky was exhausted.

“Can we sleep now? [Sleep?]” He asked.

Tarzan nodded and took Bucky’s hand, “Sleep now.”

They returned to the group and Tarzan helped Bucky lie back down. The ground wasn’t the most comfortable thing but Bucky had slept on hard earth for most of the last few years. He was more accustomed to that than the softness of a mattress, but Rumlow had insisted on inns and beds as often as they could find them.

It served no purpose to argue with him, so Bucky remained silent and slept where he was told to.

“Sleep now,” Tarzan said again and Bucky nodded.

He turned on his side, facing away from Tarzan, and used his arm as a pillow. Without asking, Tarzan wrapped his arm around Bucky’s midsection and pulled their bodies tight together. He wondered if this was how Tarzan ensured that Bucky didn’t escape, or maybe it was to protect Bucky’s most vulnerable parts from an attacker.

When he finally drifted off, it was to dark, dark dreams. He was running through trees and vines; his pursuers were not far behind but the sounds were not growls of apes or leopards – they were the shouts of men. They had come to kill Tarzan and his family. They had followed Bucky right to the Mangani home and would massacre them all.

He jerked awake, shivering and sweaty, and found that Tarzan was still pressed next to him. It was before dawn and Bucky was actually grateful for Tarzan’s closeness, as it had grown chilly in the night. He sat up and scrubbed his face with both hands, then stretched his neck, though he could still feel the tension settle in shoulders.

He looked at Tarzan again, wondering how old he was and how he’d come to be this way. It was clear he wasn’t one of the apes, regardless of what Tarzan had believed.

He had said, “ _I am wrong, Bucky. Born wrong._ ”

Bucky allowed himself to look Tarzan over. He lay on his side; his long, matted hair cascaded around his head and shoulders; his mouth was open a bit as he breathed heavily in sleep.

He was clearly white which suggested that his parents were immigrants or safari-goers. Bucky wondered if they had abandoned him here, or if they’d been killed. He looked up at Kerchak and imagined that the silverback had attacked Tarzan’s family and, when the baby was discovered, Kala took him.

He was about to lie back down when a sharp sound echoed around them. A gunshot. Kerchak jumped up, followed by Akut. Bucky looked over to find Tarzan was crouched next to him; he hadn’t even realized Tarzan was awake.

The other apes were getting up as well; the mothers were putting their babies on their backs and the males were assuming defensive stances. Kerchak made loud sounds and the apes all turned to listen to him; then, they turned and began to follow as he left the area.

Bucky had a horrible moment of uncertainty – this was _his chance_! He could run and rejoin his men; he could get back to his life. He knew he’d be able to lead them away from Tarzan and the Mangani, to protect them.

He looked at Tarzan and found those blue eyes trained on him, _pleadingly_. “Bucky,” he breathed, reaching for him.

Bucky turned, looking in the direction the sound had come from. His breathing picked up as he tried to determine the _right_ thing to do. Tarzan had saved him, over and over, and Bucky could leave and maybe – just maybe – he’d save Tarzan too.

“Bucky,” Tarzan said, again, though this time it was clear that he was _begging_.

Turning back, Bucky’s stomach dropped. Tarzan’s eyes were wide and wet and even over the sounds of the jungle and the apes, Bucky could hear the shakiness in Tarzan’s breathing. He was _desperate_ in that moment and Bucky had never even been wanted before, but this was something beyond that.

Tarzan _needed_ him.

Taking a deep breath, Bucky spared one final glance for the jungle before he nodded his head. “Okay,” he said, turning back to Tarzan, “I’m with you, pal.”

As if he could understand what Bucky had said, Tarzan smiled bright and golden. He took Bucky’s hand, leading him along gently, all while beaming at Bucky over his shoulder. Bucky had never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

_Dear Lord in Heaven_ , he thought, _I need him too_. He felt the blood rush from his face as he gripped Tarzan tighter. _Forgive me for my sins._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is [Tarzan's roar](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=626rMZ5dH68)!


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Please read!**  
>  As I mentioned in the prologue, Tarzan was raised by the Mangani and they could communicate, so keep that in mind.  
> Also, I like to imagine that Bucky continues to teach Tarzan words between chapters, but please feel free to point out of you feel I've made too big of a leap anywhere. I appreciate that feedback.
> 
> Please enjoy the beautiful art created by [fadefilter](https://fadefilter.tumblr.com/) in this chapter. I'm so grateful! Absolutely gorgeous.

They traveled for _hours_ and, when they stopped to eat, Bucky found that his feet were bleeding. He hissed as he removed his socks and balled them up. Tarzan fed him more of the leaves and bamboo, then found a bright mango that he ripped in half. Bucky gulped at the display of strength but said nothing as he chewed the sweet fruit.

When Kerchak rose to begin their trek again, Bucky pulled his socks back on, then his boots. He tried to ignore the pain as he walked but, after a few moments, Tarzan returned to his side and grunted at him. Bucky nodded and wrapped his arms around Tarzan’s neck.

He was so far past embarrassment over being ferried about, he had no argument left. Truly, the fact that Tarzan could lift and carry him for hours caused something warm to stir inside him, a desire so strong it overwhelmed him.

_Forgive me, Lord_ , he prayed. _Forgive me_.

As they walked, Tarzan spoke to him in a low voice. “[Please, teach me more.]”

Bucky nodded. “My mother is Winifred and my father is George. My sister – uh, [sister] – is Rebecca. She has a baby, a girl.”

Tarzan smiled at him over his shoulder. “Baby girl.”

Bucky nodded. “Yes, baby girl.”

“[Bucky killed the leopard. Warrior?]”

Bucky swallowed before he said, “Warrior, no. I… was in a war. [A war.] War.”

“War,” Tarzan repeated. “Mangani war with men long ago.”

Bucky turned his head a little, resting it on Tarzan’s shoulder. He was incredibly intrigued by how quickly Tarzan could learn a new language, and he wondered if Tarzan _had_ been exposed to it before. 

Then, he had a thought. “Do you… have you read books? With the children?”

Tarzan looked at him. “Books?”

Bucky lifted his hands to hold them in front of Tarzan’s face and held them together. He separated them, imitating the opening of a book, and Tarzan grunted.

“Books, I know books.”

“From the children? [Children?]”

Tarzan shook his head. “No, not the children. [I found them. Found in… strange square tree.]”

Bucky frowned. “[Show me.] Show me,” he said.

Tarzan nodded. “Tomorrow.”

It was dusk when they stopped again and Bucky watched Tarzan make them a nest out of leaves and other foliage that he stomped down. He rushed off and returned with more fruit for them. Tarzan hardly touched any food until Bucky began to eat first and, even then, he watched with that same intensity.

Bucky was sure that, were Tarzan a normal man, that stare would make him uncomfortable. However, in this situation, Bucky almost found it comforting.

As they were lying down to sleep, Bucky turned his back to Tarzan. He couldn’t allow himself to stare at Tarzan’s naked body anymore lest his deviant desires get the best of him.

He could feel Tarzan fidgeting restlessly behind him for a moment before he wrapped his arm around Bucky’s waist. Bucky bit his lip hard, trying to ignore the way it felt, when something smooth was pressed into his hand. He looked down to find a shiny, black stone – maybe lava rock. He couldn’t help the smile as he turned onto his side, meeting Tarzan’s gaze.

“[It’s beautiful,]” he said, holding it up. “Beautiful.”

Tarzan touched the rock, then Bucky’s face. “Beautiful.”

Bucky’s eyes widened but he couldn’t keep from smiling. He knew it was wrong; he knew no good could come of it, but he pressed closer against Tarzan’s body. As he was drifting off, he could have sworn that he felt Tarzan nuzzle his cheek and murmur words but he was too tired to focus on them.

He jerked awake some time later; when he opened his eyes, Tarzan was there, leaning over him. “Bucky,” he whispered, “[you were afraid, so I woke you.]”

Taking deep, heaving breaths, Bucky nodded. “Just a nightmare,” he said, scrubbing both hands over his face. It was then that Bucky remembered how long it had been since he’d changed his clothes or bathed. “[Is there somewhere I can… is there water to… clean myself with?]”

Tarzan cocked his head but nodded, standing and leading Bucky into the jungle again. It was a short walk before Bucky could hear running water and only a moment longer before he could see it. He had no idea what time it was but the sky was growing lighter, making his path easier to traverse. He knelt by the stream and pulled his shirt over his head, unbuckled his gun belt, and set them on a rock nearby. He stood up, kicking his boots off, and was about to drop his pants when he realized that Tarzan was crouched a few feet away, staring at him.

Bucky couldn’t explain the feelings running through him then. Clearly, Tarzan had no qualms about nudity; he wasn’t raised with a sense of modesty or propriety as Bucky was, but that didn’t explain the intensity of his gaze.

Bucky imagined, for a moment, that Tarzan simply felt a natural curiosity about his body. He was, after all, perhaps the first white man to interact with Tarzan, let alone undress in his presence.

But… those eyes… they said something different.

He decided to keep his trousers on for the moment and crouched down. He splashed water on his face and cupped his hands to pour it over his hair. He rinsed his armpits and set his feet in the cool water, letting the blood wash away. He glanced over to find Tarzan there, continuing to watch him.

He licked his lips. “[What is it?]”

Tarzan moved closer and crouched next to him, then mimicked his movements, rinsing the filth and sweat away from his own skin. There was no help for his hair or beard – they were too far gone, Bucky was sure. But then Tarzan stopped and his eyes focused on the water. Bucky followed his gaze and found that Tarzan was looking at their reflections. From the angle, they were both bare from the waist up, and the grime was uncovering skin that Tarzan may not have seen in some time.

He swallowed and turned to face Bucky with a perplexed expression. He slowly lifted his malformed hand and took Bucky’s wrist, lifting it up. He raised his other hand then, bringing it together with Bucky’s and his eyes went wide when they fit almost perfectly.

Bucky’s hand was slightly smaller – frankly, Tarzan was simply _massive_ – but their palms pressed together and their fingers aligned.

The look in those blue eyes changed from shock to confusion, and then to sadness as Tarzan’s brain tried to work through this information.

Bucky couldn’t help the feelings of pity that overtook him. Tarzan was raised in the wild with no way of knowing what the wider world held for him.

And all that Bucky could show him…

He shook himself, wondering where that thought had come from. _Of_ _course_ , Bucky could never take Tarzan to England or America. Bucky _belonged_ to Hydra and would remain its _asset_ until it finally killed him.

Sometimes, he wished for that.

At their last stop, in Dakar, Bucky’d had too much to drink in a tavern at the port. As he exited, he met a beautiful, dark-skinned man who offered to suck his cock for five francs. “ _I’ll let you fuck me for ten,_ ” the man had offered in his accented English.

Without hesitation, Bucky paid him five francs and followed him into an alley. When he came out, fixing his trousers, Rumlow was standing there with that disgusting grin on his face, the one that told Bucky he’d seen it all.

He said not one word, though, as Bucky stared in horror. Then, Rumlow simply walked away.

Bucky knew that, if he tried to get out of Hydra’s grasp, he’d be arrested for sodomy and hanged, if Rumlow didn’t do it himself. He had a sudden panic at the idea that Rumlow was out there, looking for him.

“Bucky,” Tarzan said, drawing him out of his bleak thoughts.

Focusing on Tarzan, Bucky said, “I have to get to Gorilla City.”

Tarzan frowned deeply. “No,” he replied, “Bucky stay.”

“I can’t,” he argued, shaking his head.

“Bucky stay. Stay with Tarzan.” Bucky’s eyes rounded and he thought he’d lost his mind entirely when Tarzan added, “My Bucky.”

He scrubbed his hands over his face, shaking his head. “No, I can’t. I’ve got – well–” He stuttered. “ _My_ family,” he said, “is in America.”

Tarzan blinked. “America,” he said, sounding it out slowly.

“Yes,” Bucky replied. “That’s my _home_.”

Tarzan frowned then and began looking around; he seemed distracted, as if he heard something Bucky couldn’t. Without another word, he moved away and Bucky averted his gaze once more.

He sighed and waited until Tarzan was out of sight before he finally dropped his trousers. He folded them and hurried into the water; he was pleasantly surprised to find that it was deeper as he waded in. It was cool and looked clean, so he submerged himself completely, holding his breath and closing his eyes.

He’d always been able to hold his breath for a while, so he let himself sink to the bottom and allowed his body to relax. His mind, however, was determined to conjure horrifying images. He remembered when he’d followed Rumlow into a camp of Indians living on land the U.S. Government wanted. They’d murdered _every one of them_ , including the women and children, and were _thanked_ for their service.

_God_ , he could still hear the screams and the pounding of horse hooves on the ground.

His eyes snapped open, realizing the sound wasn’t in his memory. Something was stomping his way – _fast_. He surfaced, coughing as he stood up in the water and saw the silverback, Akut, rushing toward him.

He had no time to think of what to do because the gorilla leapt into the air, flying right for him. There was a flash of pale skin as Tarzan swung over the water and collided with Akut in midair. They hit a tree and fell to the ground; Tarzan wrapped his arm around Akut’s neck, trying to hold him down but the gorilla was far, far stronger. The moves Tarzan had must have been practiced after years of wrestling and fighting.

Bucky rushed out of the water, grabbed his clothes, and ran. He didn’t stop until a sharp branch slashed his bare side and he realized how dangerous it was to run, naked, through the jungle. _How the hell did Tarzan survive?_ He wondered as he hid behind a large tree and yanked his trousers on his wet legs.

He could still hear the commotion and grunting as Tarzan and Akut fought. He heard the sounds of flesh being pounded and tree limbs being broken – or what he _hoped_ were tree limbs. He waited for a loud growl and a final, decisive hit, but it was almost as if Tarzan _wouldn’t_ give up.

_He can’t do this all day_! Bucky thought as he yanked the linen shirt over his head and began running again. He’d left his boots behind but only considered going back for a split second as the sound of pounding earth came from somewhere behind him. It was far too heavy and loud to be the graceful Tarzan, so Bucky ran harder. His thighs ached and his lungs burned with the exertion but he knew that, if he stopped, he would die.

Then, he heard a strange coughing, rasping voice call out, “Bu...cky.”

It was too deep to be Tarzan’s but the shock of it halted his steps. He turned around to find the silverback, Akut, watching him from twenty meters away. He opened his mouth and repeated the word, as if apes spoke to humans every day.

“Bu...cky,” he said.

“Oh, my God,” Bucky gasped, falling backwards onto his butt. “You can… talk? Those stories… they’re true!”

“Bucky!” Tarzan shouted, swinging over Bucky’s head. Tarzan let go and lithely landed at Bucky’s feet, putting a barrier between Bucky and Akut.

From his position on the ground, Bucky saw dark bruises forming on Tarzan’s back; he was bleeding from his brow and definitely somewhere on his scalp. He was panting, heavily, and sweating; Bucky could see a faint tremor in his legs as he crouched there, using his own body as a shield.

He looked as though he might collapse at any moment and Bucky was too frightened to imagine what would befall him if Tarzan was defeated.

As Bucky’s mind wandered, Tarzan began making those harsh sounds again, communicating to Akut in their strange language. Bucky was transfixed, watching the ape begin forming its own words as they _argued_. Tarzan reared up and pounded on his chest and Bucky couldn’t figure out where his strength was coming from. He looked like he was about to fall over, yet he continued to stare Akut down.

Then, Akut huffed and turned, leaving the area without so much as a backward glance. The move was simultaneously dismissive and, Bucky thought, respectful. Tarzan turned to him and Bucky gasped at the marks on his face and chest. The left side of his face was bruised a dark purple, and his nose was bleeding.

“Tarzan, you’re hurt,” he said, standing up, shakily.

Tarzan’s eyes were intent on him, a look Bucky couldn’t decipher. He opened his mouth to speak when Tarzan rushed forward and hauled Bucky into his arms.

“Wha-?” Bucky got out before Tarzan was moving away from the water and back toward the area they’d come from.

They stopped several meters away from the group of apes and Tarzan set Bucky down on his butt. Bucky sat up, ready to defend himself if necessary, but Tarzan simply began acting… strangely. He huffed and grunted, trampled over some shrubs, and then he leapt into the air and grabbed hold of a branch. It was too weak to hold his weight, though, so he toppled back to the ground in a naked heap. Bucky couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his throat, but Tarzan didn’t seem to mind.

Slowly, he approached Bucky and did not stop until his nose was pressed to Bucky’s cheek. Bucky wasn’t sure if he’d ever acclimate to Tarzan’s poor personal boundaries but he also wasn’t sure he _hated_ it. Softly and oh, so slowly, Tarzan rubbed his nose along Bucky’s cheek, down his jaw to his throat, then along the tendons in his neck. His hot breath blew over Bucky’s skin in such an animal, yet intimate way. By the time Tarzan’s nose was brushing his collarbone, Bucky was shamefully _hard_.

He had never been touched by a man this way, except when he’d paid for it. But Tarzan _wanted_ to touch him, to explore him and, although he knew it was merely out of curiosity and not a result of physical attraction, Bucky didn’t care.

It felt _so good_.

Then, Tarzan growled and Bucky had only a moment to panic before Tarzan yanked his linen shirt off. “Tarzan!” He gasped, flinching and scooting away.

Tarzan was fast, though, and he grabbed Bucky’s legs to pull him close again, scraping his back along the harsh ground. As Tarzan crawled between Bucky’s legs, he whispered, “My Bucky.”

Bucky’s breathing was too fast, too hard, and he tried once more to pull away. Tarzan huffed and yanked him back again, this time with far less patience. Bucky had, thus far, kept his eyes on Tarzan’s face, trying to determine if he was angry or meant to harm him. But when Tarzan covered Bucky’s body with his own, Bucky glanced down to find that Tarzan was hard too.

He was so hard, in fact, he was leaking already and Bucky gulped. “Oh, shit,” he murmured, in both excitement and trepidation.

“My Bucky,” Tarzan said, pressing their hips together.

Bucky was ashamed of the moan he released when Tarzan’s hard dick pressed against his, even through his pants. He dug his fingers into the ground and let his thighs fall open, obscenely. He’d tried to fight it, tried to press it down and pretend, but at that moment, he couldn’t.

He didn’t _want_ to.

“My Bucky,” Tarzan repeated as he began to rut against Bucky gently, and Bucky _nodded_ , letting his eyes fall shut.

“Y-yours,” he breathed, “God help me, I’m _yours_.”

Tarzan groaned a filthy sound and picked up the pace. Bucky wished his pants were off, too; he wished they were both naked in a bed; he wished he had his bag with the slick in it. He wanted to do so many things – wanted to kiss Tarzan, taste his skin and leave marks that would never fade. He wanted Tarzan’s solid weight to press him down and keep him there as he fucked Bucky hard.

But he could hardly imagine those things for very long as he felt a tight, coiling in his lower abdomen, much to his shock. He’d always struggled to reach orgasm because of the unending feelings of shame that overtook him in these moments. Here, however, with Tarzan, Bucky was on a knife’s edge within moments.

He threw his head back. “T-Tarzan, oh my God, gonna come, _oh_ ,” he groaned, lowly, and Tarzan echoed the sound as if he understood what Bucky had said.

Tarzan lowered himself so their chests were pressed together and rubbed his face against Bucky’s neck. Bucky wrapped his arms around Tarzan’s shoulders and _came_ , forcing a shocked sound from his lips. Tarzan growled and began to rut harder, faster. When Bucky thought he might not be able to take it anymore, Tarzan released a choked out moan, then the movement of his hips stuttered and slowed. Bucky felt the hot, sticky pulses of come that shot across his abdomen for a brief moment before the heavy weight of Tarzan collapsed on him.

“Oh, shit,” he gasped, trying to breathe.

Bucky pushed at Tarzan’s shoulders and he rolled over, though he remained pressed right up against Bucky’s side. Tarzan continued to hold him, nuzzling his cheek or neck, until he fell asleep. Bucky wasn’t sure what day it was, let alone the time, but he knew it was barely dawn. He tried to focus on the sound of his breathing, tried to ignore the growing queasiness in his gut.

When the bile began to rise in his throat, he extricated himself from Tarzan’s hold and grabbed his shirt before he hurried back toward the sound of running water. He doubled over, sure the nausea would overtake him, but nothing happened. He fell to his knees by the edge of the stream and splashed water on his face.

Tarzan’s come had dried on his belly, so he yanked his trousers off and made his way into the water again. He scrubbed his abdomen, then his own dick, but he still felt _wrong_. He’d wanted it, wanted Tarzan to touch him and to _claim_ him like he had.

But it was wrong. Two men could never be as husband and wife; they could never grow old together or raise children. He had always wanted to believe he would find a girl to marry eventually but he knew his impure lust had tainted his soul forever.

Again, Bucky took a deep breath before letting himself sink below the surface of the water. A dark and cruel part of him hoped that Akut would try again but, this time, Tarzan would still be sleeping.

It was what he deserved.

Faces of dead Indian children flashed through his mind but they didn’t disappear when he opened his eyes. They were all around him – their eyes and mouths wide open in silent screams. He shouted and choked beneath the water, standing up and rushing toward the river bank.

He coughed and spluttered, spitting up water and taking deep breaths. He had _dreams_ about those children but he’d never seen them while awake before. He looked around to ensure he was alone and sighed, grateful that he hadn’t woken the apes.

He wiped his face and sighed, making his way out of the water. He sat down, hoping to dry off a bit before he put his clothes back on. No matter how early it was, the air was quickly growing _hot_.

After a time, he redressed and located his socks and boots. Something strange caught his attention out of the corner of his eye and he turned. Between the trees, high above him, he could make out the stone face of a gorilla.

“Jabari land,” he murmured to himself. 

Bucky turned, intending to return to Tarzan when something occurred to him. If he did that, Tarzan would follow him and walk right into Hydra’s hands. He’d _die_. Bucky dropped to his knees with a terrible ache in his chest.

He _couldn’t_ let that happen.

He released a choked off sob, covering his mouth to conceal the sound. His body shook with the force of his grief but he knew he didn’t have much time. Wiping the tears away, he pulled his pants, socks, and boots on, then his shirt.

Taking a moment to collect himself, Bucky fought the urge to see Tarzan _just once more_ , to feel those gentle touches and that intense gaze. It had barely been four days since they’d met and Bucky wasn’t sure how to go back to his life before.

He didn’t honestly know if he _wanted_ to.

But he couldn’t spend his life in the jungle with Tarzan, living as man and woman could. But, _God_ , did Bucky want it. He _craved_ Tarzan’s touch, his body, his voice. Bucky’s depravity had only increased since they’d met and he’d begun to feel… as if it could be okay.

But he knew it would never be.

Jabari Land was still far away but he had no choice. It would take more than a day to get there and he could only hope that Tarzan wouldn’t follow. Bucky had no way to protect him if he did, so he turned and began walking toward the mountain.

_Please God,_ he prayed, _keep him safe._

Rumlow wouldn’t believe any story Bucky told about where he’d been or how he’d survived the last few days, but it didn’t matter. If Rumlow killed him, they’d never find the Mangani. He only needed to keep Tarzan safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you all think?
> 
> <3


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I'm still at the same spot I was before but I wanted to post this update :D I'm on my new laptop and it's awesome.
> 
> I'm hoping I can write some more this weekend and get another update posted soon. I'm about one chapter ahead but I'd like to be more.
> 
> Let me know what you all think!

_The Next Day_

Bucky had no coat and he’d tripped in the snow more times than he could count. He was frozen to the bone, shivering in the cold winds coming off the mountain, and worried he would get frostbite. He hadn’t stopped walking, hadn’t eaten or found water, in more than a day. He was weak and tired and really wasn’t sure if he would survive much longer.

_It’s alright_ , he thought, _it’s better this way._

He let himself imagine Tarzan’s eyes and his curious expression. He remembered the way Tarzan looked at him when he called him beautiful. His eyes had been so full of emotion, but Bucky’d refused to see it. He had tears frozen to his cheeks but they hardly mattered.

If the bitter cold didn’t kill him, Hydra would.

He thought he heard a voice, calling him, but he merely tried to move quicker. Tarzan couldn’t be allowed to find him! He was running away to _save_ him!

“Bucky!” The voice called again and Bucky turned his head toward its source.

“D-Dum Dum?” He breathed and fell to the ground, his vision going dark.

* * *

_Three Days Later_

Bucky’s mouth felt like sand and his eyelids were heavy as he tried to look around. He was warm, surrounded by blankets.

“Dum Dum?” He slurred out, trying to sit up.

“Move slowly,” an accented voice said, touching his shoulder to press him down. “You have been asleep for several days. Here,” she said, holding a cup to his mouth, “water.”

He drank and drank and drank, then asked for more, which she provided. She helped him sit up and eat some fruit and dry meat. After some time, he was able to look around and take in his surroundings.

The walls were stone as if the room had been carved out of the side of the mountain, which Bucky didn’t doubt. The only light in the room came from a small oil lamp on the floor next to his bed mat. His filthy clothes had been removed, though he wasn’t sure by whom, and a sarong was tied around his hips.

He wiggled his fingers and toes, ensure they were all present, and then touched his ears and nose.

“You did not suffer any frostbite,” the woman said, observing his movements closely.

“Am I in Gorilla City?” He asked in a raspy voice.

“Yes,” she said, nodding. “The other white men have been here for several days. They believed you dead, eaten by a leopard.”

“Almost was,” he replied without thinking.

She eyed him and Bucky could tell she didn’t believe him. “Your things are here, Sergeant Barnes,” she finally said.

“Bucky,” he corrected, sitting up all the way.

She nodded her head. “There is a place to bathe, Bucky. I will show you.”

He slowly rose from the mat on the floor and grabbed his bag before following her through the doorway. The entire place was carved out of the same stone as the room he’d been in and he couldn’t help but stare. When they rounded a corner, Bucky was assaulted by hot, humid air from a natural hot spring inside the mountain.

“Take your time,” she said and he waited for her to leave before he let the sarong drop to the ground.

He hissed when the hot water touched the blisters on his feet but easily relaxed into the bath, ignoring the stinging pains that he felt all over. It was almost easy to believe that it had all been a dream – Tarzan, the Mangani, the leopard – were it not for the dried mess on his abdomen that he hadn’t fully washed off.

When he was finally as clean as he could be, he got out of the water and dried himself with a towel the woman had left for him. Then, he opened his bag and located new clothes to wear, as well as clean wrap for his feet.

The aches he felt all over had been eased by the hot water but the scrapes and cuts would continue to bother him. He didn’t realize until then that his boots were missing, as well, and he wondered if they’d been ruined by his trek through the jungle.

He exited the bath and nearly collided with Dum Dum. The man was taller than Bucky with a bowler hat and a very fashionable mustache. “Bucky!” He grinned and pulled Bucky into a hug. “We were sure you got eaten!” His deep voice had a hint of a laugh in it.

“He’s up?” Dino’s voice called and Dum Dum released him.

“Yeah, he’s back from the dead!”

Dino and Gabe approached, smiling, and clapped him on the shoulders. “You had us goin’,” Dino said. “But I’m glad you’re alive.”

Bucky nodded. “I’m lucky.”

“We got you more boots,” Gabe said, brandishing a pair of primitive leather shoes with fur inside. “They’re Jabari-made but they must know what they’re doing, living up here.”

He nodded and smiled. “Thank you.” He leaned against the wall and pulled them over the wrapping on his feet.

“Barnes,” another voice called and Bucky turned to find Rollins coming closer. Unlike the others, he did not appear pleased at Bucky’s return. “Rumlow wants to see you. _Now_.”

Bucky nodded and slowly brought the bag to his shoulder. “Okay,” he said, hoping no one heard the tremor in his voice.

Rollins led them down the corridor to a grand room with a throne on the far end. In it sat M’Baku, the Jabari leader. To his right stood Rumlow, glaring at Bucky as if he were simply _late_ , rather than missing, and on M’Baku’s left stood the woman who had nursed Bucky.

He nodded at her but she only gave him a wide-eyed frown.

As Bucky approached, he could feel Dum Dum, Gabe, and Dino at his back and he was grateful for the show of support. He knew it would do no good, though.

“Barnes,” Rumlow said, “good to see you’re alive.” His tone and expression didn’t match the words he said. Bucky nodded but had no response, so he waited.

M’Baku leaned toward the woman and spoke in Wakandan, though Bucky was sure they assumed no one would understand. “[This fool thinks the boy was saved by the White Ape.]”

She frowned and made a point to meet Bucky’s eyes. “[They’ll torture him.]”

M’Baku looked at Bucky then, as well. “[Let white men kill white men. They’ll receive nothing from Jabari Land.]”

Bucky felt the blood rush from his face but he tried not to let his expression change. He looked at Rumlow and said, “You want my report?”

“Yes,” he replied, impatiently, “I want your report.”

He felt a sharp pain in the back of his head and fell to the floor. Bucky hadn’t seen it coming but he knew it was Rollins’ gun. He’d seen him do it before.

Two pairs of arms grabbed him and lifted him off the floor, though he wasn’t sure who it was. The pain made his vision blurry but the hands that held him up were far more gentle than he anticipated.

Dum Dum and Gabe, he guessed, and it was confirmed when he heard Dum Dum’s voice. “What the hell are you doing, Rumlow?”

“He’s got answers I need,” Rumlow spat. “Get him outside.”

Bucky shivered, remembering the cold but he gave no resistance as the men carried him away. He caught one last look at the woman by M’Baku’s side. She looked sad for him, he thought, but knew there was nothing she could do.

They made their way out a large doorway and Bucky was grateful he’d worn a long-sleeve short. Dum Dum and Gabe set him on his knees and stepped away. Bucky heard the crunching of snow behind him as Rumlow approached.

“Tie him up,” Rumlow ordered.

Dino came alongside him and took his arms. “Sorry about this,” he murmured and Bucky nodded to let Dino know he believed him.

He allowed them to bind his arms behind his back without a fight, knowing exactly what was to come. “Where’s the White Ape?” Rumlow asked, stepping into Bucky’s line of sight.

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t _know_.”

“You’re lying,” Rumlow shouted and backhanded Bucky’s face. “I’ll ask you again,” he said. “Where is he?”

Bucky grit his teeth and met Rumlow’s eyes, lifting his chin. “Fuck you,” he snarled.

It was then that the beating started. Dum Dum, Dino, and Gabe stood back while Rumlow and Rollins punched and kicked Bucky. He tasted the blood in his mouth and felt it elsewhere on his face when they stopped. He’d long since fallen over, but Rollins grabbed his shirt and yanked him back to his knees.

“Tell me where he is,” Rumlow ordered and Bucky took a deep breath, then spat his blood into the snow. Rumlow snarled and reared back, landing a widow-maker of a punch, sending Bucky backward.

“That’s enough!” Dum Dum shouted, though Bucky could hardly hear him over the blood rushing in his ears.

There was activity all around him and then two people grabbed Bucky under his shoulders and knees, lifting him out of the snow. They carried him back inside before his vision went dark again.

He came to awareness in the room he’d woken up in before. He was alone, sitting up in the corner; when he tried to move, his whole body ached. As a child, Bucky had often mused that he wanted to live out his life in Wakanda but he hadn’t ever thought it meant he would _die_ here.

_Like this_.

M’Baku entered the room and Bucky looked up as he raked his eyes over Bucky’s beaten form. “James Barnes,” he said, “[I know you understand me.]” Bucky nodded, but kept his head down. “[These men you traveled with are fools. Coming to Wakanda to kill the White Ape. There is no such thing.]”

Bucky shook his head and quietly replied, “[He does exist.]”

M’Baku hesitated before responding, “[If that’s so, then he was given to the Mangani by Hanuman and is meant to stay there.]”

“[He’s just a man,]” Bucky argued.

He could hear the grin in M’Baku’s voice when he replied, “[Do you truly believe that? After all you’ve _seen_ , you believe he is merely a man?]” Bucky frowned, looking up. “[Yes, we know there is a white man swinging through the trees of Wakanda. How could such a thing be concealed from us?]”

Bucky tried to shrug but regretted it immediately. “Shit,” he hissed as pain shot through him.

M’Baku stepped closer to him and knelt on the floor. “[You do look like your father.]”

“[You knew him?]” Bucky furrowed his brows. “[He came here?]”

M’Baku chuckled. “[Oh, yes. George was an interesting man. Foolish, but interesting. He came to me to ask about Jabari culture and history, about Hanuman.]”

George Barnes had taught at New York University and, when Bucky was only a boy, they’d traveled to Wakanda. “[I had no idea he traveled so far.]” They spent several years living among the villages that bordered Birnin Zana.

“[I was young then, nowhere near a man.]” M’Baku almost smiled as he remembered. “[George was my friend.]”

Bucky almost asked for his help but could see in his eyes he would not intervene, regardless of their past connection. Instead, Bucky felt the mild hope fade from his body as it slumped down again.

M’Baku was not blind to this, Bucky knew. “[Rumlow intends to march you into the jungle to draw the White Ape out. He means to use you as bait.]” Bucky swallowed. “[I have no intention of stopping him. You understand why?]”

Bucky nodded his head. He knew Hydra would come for the Jabari people and, while they were a formidable force, M’Baku would always put his tribe before an outsider.

“[I understand,]” he finally said.

M’Baku smiled. “[I have seen visions of the White Ape and his family, fighting with white men.]” His tone was strange, as if he were trying to tell Bucky something important without spelling it out.

Bucky inhaled sharply and looked up. “[You think he’ll come for me,]” he replied. “[You think he’ll take the bait.]”

M’Baku stood up and began walking toward the door. “[I only know what Hanuman chooses to show me.]”

Bucky’s head dropped again; he didn’t look up when he heard the door open and close. Shifting so he was settled on his knees, Bucky prayed to God; he prayed harder than he ever had before.

_Dear God in Heaven, please save Tarzan. Please keep him safe. If it means I give my life, I will do so. I’m a sinner, a deviant, and I know I’m going to Hell, but_ please _, save him._

It was some time later that he was jerked awake by two hands grabbing his shirt. He opened his eyes, surprised they weren’t swollen shut, and met Rumlow’s gaze. “Let’s go for a walk,” he said as he pulled Bucky to his feet.

As they walked through the corridors, the air turned colder and colder. Bucky glanced over his shoulders, noting that only Rumlow and Rollins were present. He wanted to ask about the others, hoped they were safe.

Rollins had a bag strapped to his shoulder that Bucky recognized as his. He recognized the symbolism - Hydra would dispose of everything associated with him and pretend he’d never existed. If his family were to come searching, there would be no record of him.

They walked out the palace gates into the freezing, morning air. He looked back and saw both M’Baku and the woman; they watched and, though they seemed troubled, did nothing. He knew they wouldn’t. He was not Wakandan, let alone Jabari.

It was a strange feeling that came over him then. Bucky knew he would die but he accepted that inevitability so long as it meant Tarzan would be safe from Hydra’s grasp.


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working diligently on the next part but it's coming along soooooooo slowly. TT-TT Thank you for your patience! Please enjoy.

Rumlow hadn’t taken his boots from him, so the cold didn’t pierce him too deep. When his feet began crunching the snow, he looked up to find Dum Dum, Dino, and Gabe there, watching. He could see the look in their eyes – one he’d seen only a few times before – shame. Disgust. Revulsion.

_They knew_. Rumlow had told them what he was; told them what he’d seen in Senegal. These men had stood up for him only hours before, but they had no intention to do so now. He’d known it would be that way; he had no illusions about the reality of the world.

The truth was that he’d always known it. Deviancy couldn’t be tolerated or accepted. It was _wrong_.

As he walked toward his death, Bucky’s mind was flooded with thoughts – one after the next, with no rhyme or reason.

He remembered when his sister was born, how tiny she’d been in his arms and how strong it made him. He’d sworn to God that day, promised that he’d always protect her. Her birth had brought many changes for them, including their father’s decision to return to America.

He thought about Tarzan; the way his hands held Bucky with ease; the intensity of his gaze; and the way it felt when their bodies were pressed together.

He remembered the first time he killed someone – a boy, no older than fifteen, wearing a torn and faded gray uniform. For some of his comrades, the slaying became easier and, for some, even normal – but not for him. Each death haunted him until he saw ghosts everywhere and felt safe nowhere.

He could almost _feel_ Tarzan’s hands in his hair and on his face, across his skin. He broke out in gooseflesh at the memory of Tarzan stroking his nose down Bucky’s neck. He could nearly smell his husky scent, too.

He remembered when he returned home after the war and found his sister’s bed empty. His ma had cried and promised that she went quick with the fever. His anguish at the promise broken had sent him down the path he was walking, taking his final steps with a gun to his back.

“You could turn this around, you know,” Rumlow said, capturing Bucky’s attention. “It doesn’t have to end like this.”

Bucky smirked, though neither Rumlow nor Rollins could see it. _Yes_ , Bucky thought, _it does have to_.

The trek down the mountain was perilous; both Rumlow and Rollins tripped in the snow, swearing and shouting as they stood back up. While they were down, Bucky neither tried to run nor escape, earning him slightly _confused_ looks from his captors.

After several hours, they stopped to rest; the air was finally beginning to shift from bitter, mountain cold to a more temperate climate. Bucky sat down, keeping both Rollins and Rumlow in sight, while they talked quietly to one another.

“Is it just me or does it feel like _he’s_ leading _us_ and not the other way around?” Rollins asked, inclining his head toward Rumlow.

Bucky tried to keep his expression passive. He hadn’t thought much of it but it did feel as though he were moving of his own free will and _not_ as a result of the threat of death. He was sure, however, that he had no intention of leading them to Tarzan. Perhaps, unconsciously, he hoped that they’d be stalked by a jungle cat or trampled by elephants.

“It doesn’t matter,” Rumlow replied. “If he’s out there, the White Ape will come for him.” They stalked over and Rumlow grabbed Bucky’s shirt, pulling him to his feet. “Get movin’,” he said, pushing Bucky onward to continue down the mountainside.

After nearly another hour, they finally entered the jungle. “How’s he even gonna know Barnes is here?” Rollins asked, petulantly. “It ain’t as if he can _smell_ us.”

Rumlow looked at Rollins for a moment, as if considering what he’d said, then turned back to Bucky. Pulling his revolver from its holster, he aimed at Bucky’s head. “I need you to scream,” he suggested, calmly.

Bucky bared his teeth. “Like a damsel?” He snarled and spat in Rumlow’s face.

Rumlow sneered. “No matter,” he said, then hit Bucky across the cheek with the butt of the gun, sending him to his knees. Against his will, Bucky released a shocked yelp but he cut it off quickly. “That didn’t quite work,” Rumlow observed, then he aimed the gun at Bucky’s thigh. “Let’s try again,” he said and pulled the trigger.

Searing pain shot through Bucky and he howled in agony, falling onto his side. Tears blurred his vision and he immediately covered the wound with his hands, trying to stem the blood that began to pour out.

“Jesus Christ, Rumlow,” Rollins growled, dragging Bucky’s bag over to them. “That’ll attract way more than just the White Ape!”

Rollins dropped to his knees and dug through Bucky’s bag until he found a roll of gauze. He wrapped it around Bucky’s thigh until it was tight and Bucky shrieked in agony. Rollins put Bucky’s hands back over the wound and forced him to press down, hard.

“He could fuckin’ bleed to death before the –”

Rollins cut himself off as a guttural, undulating sound echoed through the jungle. Both Rumlow and Rollins raised their weapons, readying themselves. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut.

_Tarzan’s going to get killed_ , he thought as tears ran down his cheeks. _It’s my fault_.

“What the hell was that?” Rollins hissed, looking all around them.

Rumlow glanced at Bucky. “It’s _him_ ,” he said. “Though, it didn’t sound like I thought it would.”

“What are you talking about?” Rollins growled, turning toward Rumlow.

Bucky had begun to feel weak and his hands shook where he was trying to maintain the pressure over his wound. It was bleeding but not enough that he thought he was dying. He hoped the bullet had gone right through and hadn’t hit his bone, but he had no way of knowing. During the war, he’d watched many men die from sepsis following gunshots but he couldn’t think about that.

A movement caught his eye and he turned, looking deeper into the jungle. He saw the flash of something pale moving quickly but then it was gone. Bucky tried to sit up but a sharp, burning pain shot through his leg and he collapsed onto his back, crying out through clenched teeth.

Neither Rumlow nor Rollins were paying him much attention, though, because there were strange sounds coming from all around them. Bucky could hear deep, angry growls, branches snapping, and something brushing against leaves, but he couldn’t pinpoint the location they were coming from.

Then, he heard heavy footfalls, a sound he’d never forget – it was the run of a Mangani and it was heading toward them. He kicked with his good leg, trying to push himself away from Rollins and Rumlow, fearing they’d shoot him by accident.

Barely a moment after he’d reached a minor bit of cover, Rollins fired on someone – or _something_. Bucky tried to see where he’d been aiming at but all he could see was the jungle. He’d begun to feel lightheaded and dizzy; his heartbeat was pounding in his chest and the blood was rushing in his ears. He felt sick to his stomach and, regardless of the heat, he had chills.

His vision was blurry and each time he blinked, it seemed to take longer and longer to open his eyes again. He heard Rollins scream and fire his gun, followed by Rumlow shouting. Bucky forced himself to look up just in time to see a massive, dark shape tackle Rollins to the ground.

Rolling onto his side, Bucky grabbed a thick tree root and tried to pull himself away. When a rock dug into his leg, he cried out in pain and rolled onto his back.

His vision was fading when he heard Rumlow shriek, “B-Barnes!” He reached for Bucky. “Barnes, help me!”

But Bucky couldn’t open his eyes anymore. He could _feel_ when gentle, calloused hands touched his hair and face, and he could _hear_ sharp huffing breaths and grunts. He could have sworn someone was whispering his name, over and over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, here is [Tarzan's roar](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=626rMZ5dH68)!
> 
> I'm going to work hard on the next part. I promise! <3


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy the lovely art by [Umikochannart](umikochannart.tumblr.com)!  
> in this chapter! It is so incredible and I'm so grateful! All of the art I've commissioned for the fic has been absolutely stunning. <3

When Bucky woke up, his head ached and his thigh burned. He groaned, trying to keep still to avoid hurting it more. He licked his dry lips and hoped he’d be able to find water soon.

A huffing sound forced Bucky to open his eyes, finding Tarzan smiling down at him. Much to Bucky's shock, the wounds sustained in Tarzan's fight with Akut appeared to have healed completely. When he thought about it, Tarzan seemed unfazed by most injuries that would have felled any other man.

Bucky stretched a bit and realized he was laying on something soft, much softer than the leafy beds Tarzan had made for him before. It was then that he realized he wasn’t outdoors at all, but in some sort of shack.

It actually looked very similar to cabins his regiment had broken into during the war, though this was a far cruder version. Sitting up, slowly and with a lot of effort, Bucky studied his surroundings more. There were no windows and the boards didn’t sit together or keep the elements out very well; the roof was made of grass, much of which had deteriorated.

“The square tree,” Bucky muttered to himself.

Tarzan cocked his head. “Bucky?”

“This,” he said, pointing to the roof, “[the square tree.]”

Smiling, Tarzan nodded. “Yes, Bucky.”

At that moment, they heard the sound of branches breaking outside and Tarzan walked on his knuckles toward the door. For someone so large, Bucky would always be shocked by how quietly Tarzan moved. He forced himself to remain silent as he sat up, but when he looked back, Tarzan had disappeared into the jungle.

“Shit,” he whispered, trying to move his legs slowly and carefully over the side of the makeshift bed he lay on. He hissed and his eyes swam with tears when his thigh pressed against the wood that held the cushion.

He pushed himself back to rest against the wall, trying to ease the sharp, burning agony in his leg. Noticing that the white bandage was soaked through with blood, Bucky looked around. He almost smiled when he found that Tarzan had brought his bag with them and even set it near the bed.

He leaned over, digging through his things, trying not to scream in pain. He found the other roll and began the slow, painful process of removing the soiled bandage. Once it was open to air, blood continued to spill out and Bucky grit his teeth, knowing what he would have to do.

Unbuttoning his pants, he pushed them down his thighs, unable to keep from whimpering as the fabric scraped over the wound.

He used a bit of the cloth to wipe the tears off of his cheeks. Heaving the bag onto the bed, he dug through it to find the small, wooden box that held the quinine, laudanum, iodine, petroleum jelly, and morphine tablets.

During the war, he’d watched men become addicted to these drugs and their screams during withdrawal still echoed in his mind. The pain, though, was too much to ignore.

He dry swallowed one and put the bottle back; he located the small vial of iodine and searched around for his leather belt. He dragged it closer to him; he didn’t remember how it had followed him from Gorilla City but he was eternally grateful for Brock Rumlow’s foolishness.

He pulled a bullet from the pouch and felt around for his pocket knife with shaking hands. It was clear that he had little time before he might pass out again.

Very carefully, he dug the knife into the casing until the cap popped off. He bit the stopper on the iodine bottle and pulled it out, dumping a bit over the open wound. He set it aside, unconcerned about whether it spilled or not, and dug through his pocket to find his lighter.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Bucky poured the gunpowder from the cartridge over the open wound and struck the flint until it ignited. He shoved his leather belt in his mouth, biting down hard, and released a shaky breath.

Slowly, he brought the flame down to his thigh and lit the gunpowder on fire. His vision went white with agony and he screamed around the leather.

After a few blinding seconds of anguish, he used the wet, bloody wrap to douse the flames. Once it was out, he grabbed the iodine and poured more over the burning skin before he relaxed against the wall again.

His screams couldn’t have gone unheard and he knew that he may need to run soon, so he grabbed the clean bandage to begin wrapping it. Before he could start, he heard movement outside and pulled the belt out of his mouth to ready his revolver.

The morphine was finally going into effect when Bucky heard fast footfalls coming nearer. He tried to yank his pants back up but he nearly passed out in pain. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to remain conscious.

He prayed that the burn would fade enough that he’d be able to redress fully, and soon.

“Bucky!” Tarzan shouted as he rushed into the shack, eyes wide in fright. “[What happened?]”

Bucky was too busy taking deep, desperate breaths to answer his question. “Tarzan,” he gasped out, reaching for him. “[Hurts.]”

Tarzan hurried over, touching Bucky’s thigh gently. He looked down at the lighter and said, “Burns.”

Bucky nodded. “Y-yes, it burns.”

Tarzan turned and hurried out of the shack. His steps quieted after a few moments, then returned quickly. Coming through the entrance, he held up a thick leaf that he’d cupped like a bowl. Inside, it was full of water, that Bucky guzzled desperately.

Tarzan smiled and went out again to bring more water back. When his thirst was at least partially quenched, Bucky used the remaining water to pour over the burned flesh. He hissed as it rinsed away much of the gunpowder and blood, leaving only the deep red and black skin.

There were raised areas that might turn to blisters, he knew, and there would be a large scar – but it had stopped bleeding.

“Thank God,” he breathed, taking hold of the bandage and slowly, carefully wrapped it around his thigh.

“Bucky okay?” Tarzan asked, touching Bucky’s cheek gently.

Without thinking or meaning to, Bucky leaned into Tarzan’s hand and smiled. “Better now,” he whispered, meeting Tarzan’s gaze.

Tarzan leaned closer, rubbing his nose along Bucky’s cheek and neck, over his closed eyes, and down his temple. Bucky sighed, wanting so badly to press his lips to Tarzan’s mouth, but he wouldn’t.

Couldn’t.

Instead, he wrapped his arms around Tarzan’s shoulders and held him. “[How did you find me?]” He only needed to whisper since Tarzan was so close.

“[Searched for you,]” Tarzan said and his warm breath washed over Bucky’s skin like a balm. “[Akut helped me, rallied others to come with us.]”

“[Even though he tried to kill me?]” Bucky asked against Tarzan’s neck, tightening his hold.

Tarzan nodded against him. “[Akut only protected family. He doesn’t trust men.]” Bucky wanted to ask so many questions, but he kept silent and waited. “[I hoped you hadn’t gone to Jabari land,]” Tarzan went on after a moment. “[Mangani don’t travel there.]”

Bucky swallowed. _Of course_ , a naked man couldn’t travel to Gorilla City, high in the mountains. “[Thank you,]” he said, smiling against Tarzan’s shoulder. “[You saved my life.]”

Tarzan leaned back a bit, beaming down at Bucky. He reached up and touched Bucky’s hair with his knuckles, whispering, “My Bucky.”

Bucky opened his mouth to argue but something happened then – something he couldn’t quite describe. Tarzan turned his head and pressed his face into Bucky’s neck, deepening the embrace, and a feeling of warmth came over him. A heady feeling overtook him and his chest felt full and heavy.

His vision blurred and his mind clouded over, so he lay back down on his back. Tarzan released his hold but then he secured the wrapping on Bucky’s thigh, then he began tugging Bucky’s trousers up.

Tarzan’s movements were so gentle and slow, Bucky felt barely any pain when the fabric slid over his burned flesh. Then, without invitation, Tarzan crawled over Bucky and laid down next to him, pressing in close.

“Yeah,” Bucky muttered as he scooted closer. “I’m yours.”

As he closed his eyes, he felt Tarzan’s smile against his head and heard him whisper, “Sleep now.”

The gentle pressure of Tarzan’s arm across his waist only helped ease him deeper into oblivion. Again, he dreamed of flying through the trees like a bird, except, this time, he could feel the thick vine in his hands and the wind whipping against his bare skin.

“ _Like this, Bucky_ ,” a voice called and Bucky turned his head.

There, swinging next to him, was Tarzan. He released one vine and took hold of another, all the while, watching as Bucky did the same, flying toward the nearest one and gripping it. He couldn’t remember a time that he’d felt so free – no guilt or shame, no anger.

He was just _Bucky_. He was just a man. Nothing else mattered when Tarzan looked at him that way.

Bucky snapped into awareness and took a deep, shaky breath. The shack was fully dark, which told him that it was either very late or very early. He shifted, slowly, trying to avoid jostling his leg when he remembered that he wasn’t alone on the makeshift bed.

Pressed tightly to his back, Tarzan snored quietly.

Bucky turned to look and his heart ached at the sight. In sleep, Tarzan seemed as innocent as he truly was. He knew nothing of propriety, etiquette, and social expectations. He touched Bucky with the ease and warmth of someone who had no idea how _dangerous_ it was to do so.

In America or England, if they were caught in a bed together, they’d be arrested – even put to death.

But… not here.

In Wakanda – in the jungle – no one would come for them. In fact, it was not only accepted but respected for men to be with other men in this country. He recalled seeing the two men in the market, holding hands as they shopped together.

Bucky’s mind still felt foggy from the morphine but an idea came to him clearly: he _could_ stay with Tarzan. There was nothing to keep them from living their lives together if they wanted to.

He realized, then, how badly he _wanted_ to be Tarzan’s.

In his groggy state, he didn’t realize he’d been touching Tarzan’s back and shoulders, feeling the thick muscles move beneath the skin. He touched the dreadlocked hair that cascaded down his back, the thick beard, and those beautiful lips.

He wondered if Mangani kissed – if Tarzan had ever kissed anyone. He swallowed, imagining that he’d be Tarzan’s first – his first _everything_.

Dragging his thumb across Tarzan’s bottom lip, Bucky heard him sigh and even press into the touch. Even in sleep, he seemed to crave Bucky’s touch, and Bucky only wanted to give more.

“Tarzan,” he whispered, realizing only then how heavily they were both breathing.

Tarzan’s eyes shot open and met Bucky’s. The intensity of that look made Bucky shiver and he only just stopped himself from moaning. Tarzan moved so he was hovering over Bucky’s body, staring down at him.

His eyes were full of _wonder_ and surprise, as if he had never believed Bucky would touch him that way.

“Bucky,” he breathed back, leaning down and rubbing his nose along Bucky’s cheek and jaw.

His usually clean-shaven face was now scratchy and the small hairs caught on Tarzan’s beard. It almost tickled and he smiled, feeling light and _happy_.

“Tarzan, I –” he began but was interrupted when his stomach growled loudly.

In the blink of an eye, Tarzan was gone.

“Tarzan?” He called but there was no response.

Tossing the morphine tablet into his mouth, he swallowed it without anything to wash it down. He sat up, watching the doorway and hoping Tarzan would return quickly. He knew he wouldn’t be able to fight off an attacker if someone – or _something_ – came after him.

Just then, he heard stomping feet coming closer, though it sounded strange. When Tarzan came into view, Bucky understood why – he had an armful of fruits, leaves, and bamboo stalks.

The tension Bucky hadn’t realized was there leaked from his body.

“Tarzan,” he breathed, letting himself relax against the wall.

“Bucky,” Tarzan replied, smiling brightly as he cross the room. Taking a papaya from his bounty and setting it on the bed, he said, “Eat.”

Bucky didn’t argue as he devoured the fruit, then let Tarzan feed him the leaves and bamboo as he had done before. As he ate some mango, the sun began to rise, lighting the shack a bit.

Tarzan’s face lit up and he turned, walking on his knuckles toward the wall. He dug among a pile of things that Bucky couldn’t quite see. Returning, he held up a book that appeared to be a romance. On the faded cover, Bucky could clearly see a man and a woman kissing, which was very unusual. He’d heard that only books like the _Kama Sutra_ featured such bawdy imagery.

“[What are they doing?]” Tarzan asked, touching the book with his knuckle.

Bucky looked up, realizing that Tarzan was less than a foot away from him. “[Th-they’re kissing,]” he explained.

Tarzan’s brows furrowed. “[Kissing?]”

Nodding, Bucky made a point to look away. “[When a man and a woman are in love, they kiss,]” he explained.

“Bucky,” Tarzan said, touching Bucky’s cheek and drawing his gaze up. He then touched his own lips and, for a horrible moment, Bucky misunderstood – he thought Tarzan meant to kiss him! But then, Tarzan said, “[Teach me.]”

Bucky was both relieved and disappointed, though he tried to ignore the latter feeling. “Kiss,” he finally said. “They’re kissing.”

Tarzan took the book and looked at it more intently. “Kissing,” he said, touching the couple with his hand. “[When they’re in love?]” He asked in a strange tone.

Bucky scrubbed his hands over his face. “Yes, when they’re in love,” he translated.

“In love?” Tarzan asked.

Keeping his head down, Bucky answered, “[It means that you care about someone, more deeply than family.]”

Tarzan was silent for a long moment and Bucky was forced to look up. Tarzan’s eyes were intent on him and Bucky was afraid of what that look could _mean_.

He knew what he _wanted_ it to mean and that sure knowledge made his stomach hurt as much as it made his chest ache.

Tarzan could never _love_ him.

Before the pain of that thought could show on his face, Bucky pointed behind Tarzan, desperate to change the subject. “[What’s that book?]”

Turning, Tarzan seemed to immediately locate what Bucky had pointed at, and he rushed to grab it almost giddily. When he returned to the bed, he carried a picture book titled, _An African Safari_. It was clearly written for a young child, as it used different animals to teach the ABCs.

Looking up, Bucky asked, “[Do you know what this is?]”

Tarzan nodded, proudly. “Book.”

“[Where did they all come from?]” Bucky wondered aloud, looking around.

Shrugging, Tarzan said, “[Don’t know. I read them and learn.]”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “[You can read?]”

“[Don’t know how words sound out loud but I know what they mean.]” Tarzan came around to Bucky’s side, looking over his arm at the page Bucky had opened. “[That,]” he said, pointing to the picture for the letter ‘G.’ “[That’s gorilla. Like Mangani but smaller.]”

Bucky smiled at him. “Gorilla,” he said. “It’s a gorilla.”

Tarzan’s eyes widened and he repeated the word. “Gorilla.”

“That’s right,” Bucky confirmed, nodding his head.

“Gorilla!” Tarzan said again. “Bucky teach me.”

“Yes, I will,” he agreed. “One day, we’ll go through the whole book.”

It took barely a second for Tarzan’s eyes to widen and his face to break out in a huge smile. He reached up and touched Bucky’s cheek with his knuckles. “Bucky stay,” he murmured. “Stay with Tarzan.”

Bucky’s heart slammed against his ribs and his stomach turned queasily, but he knew that Tarzan was right. He wished he could tell himself it was because he needed to protect his family, or that he had nothing to go back to – but that was a lie.

The truth was, Bucky didn’t _want_ to leave Tarzan.

But he wasn’t ready to say that yet. Instead, he pointed to the far wall and asked, “Will you bring me another book?”

Tarzan followed his instructions and turned around. He brought back a small, dark book – not just _any_ book, though. It was a diary.

Bucky took it from Tarzan’s extended hand and opened the cracking leather cover. “‘This is the diary of Joseph Rogers, Lord of Greystoke,’” He read slowly, feeling the blood leave his face. “Joseph Rogers,” he breathed, looking at Tarzan.

The story of Joseph and Sarah Rogers was not unknown to Bucky – not by a long shot. Sarah Rogers was an American immigrant from Ireland; she’d married an English Lord and they settled in New York City. However, when her uncle, a wealthy landowner in South Africa, passed away, his land had been bequeathed to her and her husband.

They had left America and set sail for Cape Town but their ship went down off the coast of Africa. They’d been assumed dead, especially when the vessel was later discovered. For some reason, they’d sailed too near the coastline and crashed. There’d been only one raft and it was missing, but no survivors were ever found.

Bucky tried to move his legs, intending to search the shack further, but he hissed in pain and fell back onto the makeshift bed. “Bucky,” Tarzan said, stepping closer. “[Rest.]”

Bucky nodded but forced himself to sit up. “Books,” he said, looking around. “More books?”

Tarzan stepped away and returned after a few moments of rummaging. In his arm were three more novels – all fiction. One featured large lettering; its formerly bright colors faded from the elements. When he opened it, he found it to be the children’s book, _The Swiss Family Robinson_ , which seemed quite ironic.

_Wait_ , he thought, opening the book to the first page. Scribbled in the corner, he found a faded note, scribbled in ink – _To my dearest Steven, may you love this story as much as I did as a child_.

“Steven Rogers,” he murmured before he grabbed the journal again and read the final entry. “They had a baby,” he said, looking at Tarzan with wide eyes.

“Baby,” Tarzan repeated, looking at the books in confusion.

Bucky shook his head. “Tarzan, these… your father and mother – these are _yours_.”

Tarzan cocked his head and furrowed his brows. “My… books?”

“Yes! These – these, uh –” Bucky held up the journal and pointed to it. “Your father _wrote_ this about _you_. Your father – Joseph Rogers. Here, look –”

“No,” Tarzan interrupted and Bucky looked up.

He was clearly disbelieving as he scooted away, frowning. Bucky heard a sharp crack and Tarzan hissed in surprised pain. Yanking his foot away, Bucky saw something that gleamed in the light, and pointed at it.

“[Please give me that,]” he asked.

Tarzan looked at the broken glass at his feet and picked it up, carefully. Once he had it, Bucky _knew_ what it was. It was a wedding photo – a dark-haired gentleman with a mustache and a beautiful, blond woman, holding a bouquet of chrysanthemums.

Luckily, the glass had protected it from the elements and Bucky could easily see the similarities – the same nose and cheekbones, possibly even the same eye color.

“Oh, God,” he muttered. “Tarzan… it’s your family.”

Tarzan huffed a loud, angry breath and Bucky looked up. “No, I’m Mangani!” He all but shouted. “Men kill my family!”

He reared up as if he might attack and Bucky held his arms up to protect himself. He tried to scoot away but sharp pain shot through his leg and he dropped the photograph to the floor. The glass broke and Tarzan snarled before he turned and ran from the shack.

“Tarzan!” He called but nothing answered except the sounds of the jungle, growing louder and louder around him. His mouth and eyes were wide as he whispered, “Oh, God. What have I done?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art credit to [Informative_Dandy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Informative_Dandy/pseuds/Informative_Dandy)!  
> What did you all think? <3  
> I really wanted to dial up the non-sexual intimacy in this chapter because Bucky has been so lonely and lost. He deserves some love <3


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Here we are! I imagine that there will be one or two more chapters after this - possibly three if I'm feeling extra inspired. ;) I have some more art commissions coming and I'll add them to the fic as they come in, so keep checking back.  
> Please, please go back to the prologue and take a look at the art created by the talented [@emdibuja](https://twitter.com/emdibuja)!

Bucky limped along, leaning on a stick he’d found outside the shack. He’d been following Tarzan’s distinct tracks for over an hour, but he was much slower than the Ape-Man. With each step, his leg burned and trembled under his weight. Carrying his heavy bag wasn’t helping much but he knew, if he couldn’t find Tarzan, he would need the items in it to survive.

All around him, the jungle was alive – birds called to one another; though he couldn’t feel the breeze, he could hear leaves brushing together. Small animals scurried away from him, or at least he hoped it was him that they were running from. Looking up, he could see at least a dozen areas in which a predator could conceal itself.

Or, perhaps, even a man.

A sound coming from the trees halted his steps. “Tarzan?” He called, only realizing afterward how dangerous it was to do so.

Though, really, he was lumbering quite loudly through the jungle and, by then, all manner of creatures had already heard him. He waited another moment, listening for any sign of movement before he continued on.

It wasn’t long before the humidity started to affect him. The air felt so thick, he imagined he could grab it and wring water out of it to drink. The temperature had risen quickly since the sun came up, which brought sweltering, muggy winds that only seemed to make him hotter. As he walked, he struggled to breathe and he wondered if that was what it felt like to drown.

Tarzan’s impressions in the mud were still distinct enough for Bucky to follow which, he hoped, meant that he was close. He had no idea how long he’d been walking or how far he was from the shack, but he did know that he couldn’t go back there – not unless he found Tarzan.

Thinking back on the events from the morning, Bucky could only feel shame for what he’d tried to do.

He knew that Tarzan hated men – he knew that the Mangani hated men and Tarzan had been raised as one of them. Maybe they would never discover what befell Joseph Rogers after his wife died; perhaps no one was meant to know. What mattered, more than anything else, was that Tarzan _lived_. Having been taken in by Kala and raised as her own, Tarzan had been given what Joseph and Sarah would have wanted for him – a life with a family.

Knowing that, Bucky had still wanted Tarzan to accept his true heritage, to accept being human.

_But wh_ _y? What did I expect would happen_? Bucky wondered as he stumbled over a log. Luckily, he remained standing, though using the stick to keep himself upright made his leg burn.

Looking down at the muddy ground, Bucky saw hundreds of ants swarming and he shifted backward to escape them. Since his group had entered the jungle, the insects had been a constant companion. Mosquitoes, termites, and even butterflies occupied the land and trees all around.

Somewhere nearby, he heard what he thought must be a monkey screeching loudly, but he wasn’t sure if it was greeting a friend or warding off danger. Once he was able to stand himself up, he kept moving, trying to hurry as quickly as he could, just in case. He knew that Tarzan could be far, far ahead and it was possible that Bucky’d never see him again, but he _had to try_.

His spirits remained high – despite the pain and exhaustion – until he came to a large tree and the footprints disappeared. Bucky’s breathing sped up then as he searched around the tree, hoping to locate more tracks.

He hobbled from one side to the other, then back again, but there was no trace of Tarzan.

“No,” he breathed, dropping the stick and rushing around. _Did he climb up? Where could he have gone? Did he know I was following him?_ His thoughts became more desperate, even hysterical, as he examined the jungle floor and the tree. “No, no, no, no,” he shouted, feeling the sting of tears in his eyes. “Oh, God, _no_.”

Bucky sat on the ground, staring up into the canopy, and began to weep. The cuts on his face stung but he could barely feel it. The jungle seemed to go silent though he was only vaguely aware of it at that moment.

Just then, he heard branches crack somewhere behind him and he turned, eyes wide. “Tarzan?” He called, wiping his cheeks quickly. A flock of birds flew off, obviously disturbed by something nearby. “Tarzan,” he pleaded, “is that you?”

There was no response and Bucky shifted around, staring in the direction the sound had come from. His eyes moved over the area he could see – up into the trees and into the darkness of the jungle. Though the sun was high, the canopy obscured it enough that parts of his surroundings were almost fully blanketed in crepuscular shadows.

He tried to stand up, reaching for his revolver, but the pain of a blunt object smacking the back of his head forced Bucky to the ground. Blinding pain wracked through his body, emanating from both his thigh and his scalp. Before he even realized what was happening, a strong grip had taken hold of his hair and yanked him to his hands and knees. Forcing himself to look, Bucky nearly screamed in horror and disbelief.

Dark, furious eyes glowered at him from a bloody and beaten face. “R-Rumlow,” he stuttered out. “You – you were dead!”

Snarling, Rumlow said, “Fuckin’ monkeys can’t kill me, you filthy deviant.” Bucky grit his teeth to keep from crying out when Rumlow’s grip tightened and a cold, metal barrel pressed beneath Bucky’s chin. “Drop the gun,” Rumlow ordered.

Bucky pulled it from its holster and let it fall to the jungle floor. Unarmed and injured, he knew there was little chance he would survive Rumlow a _second_ time. There would be no help from Tarzan or the Mangani; there was no hope.

“Now,” Rumlow growled, “where the fuck is _Tarzan_?”

Bucky glared up at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He didn’t see the punch coming, nor could he have done something about it if he had. Rumlow took hold of Bucky’s arm and yanked him up, forcing him onto his knees. “He saved you before but where did he go?” Rumlow questioned rhetorically. “Did he figure out what you _are_ , you fucking deviant? Did he _abandon_ you?”

“Shut up,” Bucky growled, though he couldn’t ignore how much the words stung.

Rumlow backhanded him at that, which was more shocking than painful. “You’re nothing but a sodomite, Barnes. No one will miss you.”

Bucky took a deep breath and shut his eyes. He allowed the curses to wash over him but something strange was happening. These insults were all the same ones he had told himself over and over and, for some reason, they no longer rung true. The degradation didn’t cling to him as it had before.

The only words that hurt were those that Rumlow said about Tarzan, and those only burned because they were partially true. Bucky’s insistence and his own desires had pushed Tarzan away, forced him to run into the jungle.

Bucky had never accepted Tarzan as he truly was. As others wouldn’t tolerate Bucky for his depravity, Bucky hadn’t wanted to acknowledge Tarzan’s nature. If he did, he’d have to recognize that Tarzan may be too different, too savage. As a result, Bucky had wanted to change him, to convince him, as if Tarzan himself wasn’t _right_.

_Just like Rumlow thinks I’m not right_ , he thought to himself.

Rumlow released Bucky’s hair and he fell forward, wincing as sharp rocks dug into his hands. “Because of you,” Rumlow began, delivering a sharp kick to Bucky’s abdomen that knocked him to his side. “Rollins is dead.” Bucky curled in on himself, ready to protect his head from any further attacks. “You know how many battles I survived because of him?” Rumlow shouted and stomped his foot down onto Bucky’s ribs.

He cried out and tried to scoot away, but Rumlow was right there. He grabbed Bucky’s shirt and drug him to a sitting position which allowed Rumlow to begin beating him.

It took Bucky several strikes to realize what was happening. Rumlow _knew_ that Tarzan had left Bucky behind; he must have been watching them, maybe even overhead the argument. But he hadn’t simply shot Bucky or tried to use him as bait again.

No, this was not like before. Rumlow had no intention of making this quick – he was going to kill Bucky slowly.

Gritting his teeth, Bucky reminded himself, _No Barnes goes down without a fight_.

When Rumlow swung again, Bucky dodged, rolling across the ground and pushing himself to his feet. Each movement strained the burned flesh and his knees buckled, but he could not give in.

He glanced over and found his gun, still lying in the dirt a few meters away. But before he could make a break for it, Rumlow ran at him and tackled him to the ground. The air was knocked from Bucky’s lungs but he twisted his legs and body, throwing Rumlow off balance and allowing Bucky to gain the upper hand.

He began swinging immediately, landing punch after punch against Rumlow’s still bleeding face. Rumlow, however, didn’t fight clean. He grabbed a handful of mud and threw it in Bucky’s eyes before slamming his fist down on Bucky’s injured thigh. Bucky screamed and Rumlow jerked him to the ground. Bucky scrubbed the dirt off quickly and landed a kick against Rumlow’s gut before scurrying away again, making for the gun.

Rumlow grabbed his leg, though, and Bucky fell forward, landing hard on his knee and arm. He tried to bat Rumlow’s hands away with his other foot but, when that didn’t work, he looked up to find that the gun was much closer than he’d thought.

He reached for it, feeling rocks and sticks digging into his still burning thigh as Rumlow tried to drag him backward. Realizing he was not going to reach it, Bucky took hold of a rock instead; turning around, he swung it and clipped Rumlow’s forehead, delivering a new gash.

“Fuck!” Rumlow screamed, releasing Bucky’s leg.

With that, Bucky began moving toward the revolver, again. He was so close – he could just feel the cold, metal grip when sheer, blinding pain traveled through his body. He couldn’t scream, though – couldn’t hardly breathe. He looked down and found Rumlow’s hunting knife in his side, stabbed in between his ribs, probably puncturing his lung.

When he tried to inhale, it felt like when he’d choked on water in the river. It felt like _drowning_.

“Told you it could’ve gone differently, Barnes,” Rumlow spat and the arrogance in his voice only served to infuriate Bucky.

Gritting his teeth, he made one final, desperate lunge for the gun and grabbed it. The unfortunate consequence, however, was that Rumlow was forced to yank the knife out or let go of it – which he would never do.

Bucky _did_ scream then but he didn’t stop – couldn’t. Maybe he was already dead but, no matter what, he could not allow Rumlow to leave this place. Bucky rolled onto his back and then got to his feet, shakily. All the while, he kept the revolver aimed at Rumlow.

“You ain’t got the balls, Barnes,” he sneered and took a step forward, holding the bloody knife up.

Bucky had never wanted to kill _anyone_. He’d never imagined how much going to war with the south would change him, but he’d been proud to be a part of it. Since it had ended, however, Bucky’d kept killing – Mexicans, Indians, other Americans, it didn’t matter. When Hydra saw something it wanted, Rumlow and his team were sent in to _take it_.

Never once had any of it feel _right…_ until that moment. When Bucky pulled the trigger and Rumlow’s expression changed from smug to shocked, he wanted to laugh.

Instead, however, Bucky’s vision swam and he fell to the ground right after Rumlow did. It hadn’t been easy to breathe but, all of a sudden, he felt like he was suffocating. Underneath him, the ground felt wetter than it had before and he lifted his hand to figure out why.

The answer was, he was lying in a pool of his own blood. “Oh.”

Before he could think more on it, he heard footsteps coming his way. For a terrible moment, he feared that he’d missed and Rumlow was still alive.

That was, until a golden halo of hair and beautiful blue eyes appeared above him. “Bucky,” Tarzan exclaimed, touching Bucky’s face and hair. “Bucky, no, my Bucky.”

“Tarzan,” Bucky murmured, feeling a heaviness in his belly and chest that he knew couldn’t be good. “Tarzan, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… tried to change you.”

Tarzan didn’t let him go on, though. Lifting Bucky into his arms, he began to run – not like Mangani, but like a man. He stood tall and rushed, faster than Bucky thought possible. But, in his delirium, none of that mattered.

“I… want you as… you are,” he whispered between wheezing breaths.

“I want Bucky, too,” Tarzan replied, leaping over a downed tree. His tone took on a new determination when he declared, “Bucky stay.”

Smiling, Bucky nodded, imagining that this would be where he died. With Tarzan.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I’ll stay.” Reaching up, he caressed Tarzan’s cheek and jaw with his bloody hand. “I wish… I could have stayed… forever.”

Tarzan didn’t reply but he did meet Bucky’s gaze for a moment. Bucky tried to blink the tears away, hoping Tarzan would be the last thing he’d see, but each time his eyelids closed, it took more and more effort to open them.

“I wish we had more time,” Bucky mumbled, weakly.

He’d seen knife wounds before; he’d seen men die slowly and painfully from blood loss. He could only be grateful that it had stopped hurting so much, though he knew what that meant.

“I’m dying,” he whispered, turning his face against Tarzan’s chest.

“No,” Tarzan growled as the world around them darkened.

At first, Bucky thought it was the end of the line but then Tarzan stopped, skidding his feet across moist earth. Gently, he laid Bucky on the ground and then disappeared. Bucky whimpered and tried to reach for him, to keep him near, but it was no use – his arms were too weak.

After a few seconds – or minutes, Bucky wasn’t sure – Tarzan was at his side again. Carefully, he lifted Bucky’s head up and pressed something fragrant to his lips. “Eat,” he urged. There was a desperation in his voice that Bucky had never heard before. “Eat, Bucky!” He demanded, pushing harder.

Opening his mouth, Bucky accepted the food but, when he tried to chew, he couldn’t. He furrowed his brows, imploring his jaw to move, but nothing was happening. Within a second of his failed attempt, Tarzan’s hand was on his chin, forcing his mouth open while he reached in to pull the object out.

“Sorry,” Bucky tried to say but it came out slurred and quiet.

Then, it happened. Bucky’s eyes shot open as a pair of lips pressed to his. He tried to speak but, when he parted his mouth, something sweet was being pushed inside. _Oh, God,_ he thought, _he’s using his tongue_.

While the action _felt_ like a kiss, Bucky was cognizant just enough to know that it wasn’t one. Tarzan had chewed whatever it was and was guiding it inside Bucky’s mouth. With the little strength he had left, Bucky swallowed it down, but Tarzan didn’t move away.

He kept his lips pressed to Bucky’s.

_This_ _is a kiss_ , he thought to himself just before the pain slammed into him like a cannon ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh NO! TT-TT Poor boys. What did you all think?


	10. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am *so* sorry for the delay!
> 
> Without further ado -

Bucky sat up and had to shield his eyes from the bright sunlight that streamed in through the window of the hut. He wiped his face and looked around. “Tarzan?” He called before standing up and walking to the doorway.

Once there, Bucky realized three things at once: he wasn’t wearing his own clothing; his wounds were gone; and so was Tarzan.

He pulled the bright red dashiki up, exposing his perfectly smooth skin to the light of day. There wasn’t even a scar. “How is this possible?” He muttered to himself, feeling over his ribs.

“It’s not,” a voice said and Bucky’s head shot up.

What he found there… he was not prepared for. “Rebecca?”

There before his eyes stood his little sister – she looked just as he remembered her. She was still only a child, barely eight, and always wore her hair up and adorned it with the pins Bucky bought for her.

“Oh, God,” he whispered and rushed toward her. He lifted her off the ground and hugged her tight, listening to the sound of her laughter. “Oh my God, I’ve missed you.”

He knelt down so her feet met the ground, but didn’t release her. “I’ve missed you too, Bucky,” she replied.

Pulling away, Bucky asked, “Am I dead? Is that… is that why you’re here?”

Shaking her head, Rebecca giggled. “No, you’re not dead.”

“Then, where are we?” He questioned, looking around.

“This is… a stop on the way there, I suppose,” she explained. “Sometimes, people get off here. Sometimes, they move on or even go back.”

When Bucky took in his surroundings, he was able to recognize how unreal this place was. The immediate area was bright with sunshine but just out of the grove they stood in, the jungle hid deep darkness. Inside it, he could make out golden eyes watching them.

“What are those?” He asked, pointing toward the jungle.

Rebecca took his hand and brought his attention back to her. “They’re not here for you.”

“But, Becca, I –”

“Bucky, listen to me,” she interrupted, taking his face in her hands. “This is important and I only have a moment.”

His eyes widened. “No, no, don’t leave me. I was supposed to protect you and I didn’t! I'm so sorry, I –”

She shook her head again. “Bucky, I’m _dead_. You’re _not_.”

Frowning, Bucky shouted, “No! No, you can’t leave me! It’s been so _hard_ without you.”

Rebecca’s eyes flickered with sympathy. “Bucky, I never once blamed you. You have to know that. Even if you had been there, it wouldn’t have changed anything – I need you to know that too.”

“No, Becca, no, I wasn’t _there_ –”

“Bucky,” she interrupted, smiling. “I’m at _peace_.”

Bucky’s eyes flooded with tears but he forced himself to nod. “Okay,” he gulped out.

Her smile turned warm and affectionate. “Will you listen now?” Again, he nodded, but couldn’t answer. “Alright,” she began, “I’ve come here to see you because you deserve to know the truth.” Frowning in confusion, Bucky sat back on his knees and waited. “I’ve been watching you all these years. I’ve seen your pain, my brother, and it’s made me weep. I hoped one day, I’d be able to reach you – somehow – and help you see.”

“See what?” Bucky asked, furrowing his brows.

“You need to live. You _deserve_ to live. You have to go back,” she said. “Tarzan is out there, waiting for you because he _loves_ you, and that love is _not_ _wrong_.”

Bucky was horrified – his little sister knew about his deviancy. Did his dead grandparents? Would his parents learn of it when they finally passed on?

“They already _know_ , Bucky,” she answered, having somehow heard the questions right out of his mind. “They knew when I was alive and they know now, but they still love you.”

Bucky shook his head. “No, Becca, that’s not –”

“Have they ever introduced you to a lady? Have they taken you to parties to show you off as an eligible man? You must know you are, given your age and parentage.”

Bucky thought back, thought _hard_ , trying to remember if his parents had even _once_ asked him about marriage or courtship. He couldn’t even recall them inquiring about it when he attended parties. With wide, shocked eyes, Bucky looked on his little sister again.

“No, they… they never have,” he finally answered. “Not with any real significance.” Rebecca smiled and touched his face again. “What do I… what do I do now?” He asked, looking around.

With a glint in her eye, Rebecca answered, “You wake up.”

* * *

Bucky jerked into awareness, sitting up and gasping. He was still in the dark place they’d entered when… when he was dying, but something seemed to give off a strange purple light.

“Bucky,” Tarzan exclaimed, jumping closer and putting both hands on Bucky’s shoulders. “Rest, lie back.”

Something strange happened – Tarzan tried to push Bucky down… but he _couldn’t_. Bucky met his eyes and saw something like _mischief_ there. Deciding his injuries might not survive if he went a round with an Ape-Man, Bucky relaxed.

At that moment, though, Bucky realized something: there was no pain. Anywhere. Furrowing his brows, Bucky sat up again and yanked his shirt off, looking at his side. The knife wound was gone and, in its place, there was a pale, pink scar.

“Wh-what?” He blurted out before a thought occurred to him.

With shaking hands, Bucky unbuttoned his trousers and shoved them down. There was no blinding agony, no sharp pain – the fabric slipped off easily, revealing… waxy, faded burn scars.

“Where’d it go?” He looked up, meeting Tarzan’s eyes. “Wh-where – Tarzan, what’s going on?”

Smiling, Tarzan pointed across the cavern where the purple light seemed to emanate from. Bucky turned to look and saw what appeared to be vibrant flowers. They grew all over the cave, unperturbed by the darkness in which they flourished.

“[Herbs,]” Tarzan explained. “[Mangani eat them for generations. Long ago, Mangani were like gorillas – docile, weak, dumb.]” He said those words without disdain or shame. “[But now, we are strong; we are cunning; we are _warriors_.]”

Bucky returned his gaze to Tarzan and asked, “And you… Tarzan, you let me eat that?”

Nodding, Tarzan explained, “Bucky was sick, weak, dying. I couldn’t… I _had_ to save you.”

“But I’m not Mangani,” Bucky argued. “I’m just… I’m a man.”

With a grin, Tarzan moved into a crouch and stepped close, touching Bucky’s face with his knuckles. “Bucky not just a man now.”

“I don’t understand,” Bucky said.

Tarzan grunted, putting both hands on Bucky’s shoulders again and pushing. But nothing happened. The pressure felt, to Bucky, like the teasing shove of a schoolmate.

“Wha-?”

Tarzan chuckled. “Bucky strong like Mangani,” he said. “Bucky strong like _me_.”

Bucky reached up and wrapped his fingers around Tarzan’s forearms, then began pulling them away from his body. Though he wasn’t able to actually move Tarzan’s arms, he could just about stop Tarzan from pushing against his torso.

“How did you find this?” He asked, releasing Tarzan and sitting up.

“Mangani found it long ago,” Tarzan answered, looking around. “[The Panther uses it too; it makes him strong enough to protect Wakanda.]”

Bucky frowned, meeting Tarzan’s eyes. “The Panther?” He asked, remembering the conversation he’d heard in the market.

As a child, he’d also heard mention of this deity – The Black Panther. When his father had researched it, he’d come up against wall after wall, as if the people were as defensive of their God as he supposedly was of his land. Thinking back, Bucky recalled discussions that his father had had with elders and some of them _had_ mentioned the supernatural strength and speed of the Panther God.

“The Black Panther, Tarzan? Their God?”

Tarzan cocked his head. “God?”

Bucky nodded. “[The Panther God.]”

Tarzan chuckled, patiently. “[No, the King,]” he said. “T’Challa, like his father before him. He is the Panther.”

Bucky’s mouth fell open in shock. _Of course_ , the people would protect such a secret! For a moment, he imagined returning to New York and telling his father, but knew that wouldn’t be possible. It was not for him to share this knowledge – nor had it been for Tarzan to do so. He’d simply not known what it could mean for the people of Wakanda – Tarzan had only thought to save Bucky’s life.

Grinning, Tarzan said, “Bucky stay. Stay with Mangani.”

Bucky’s heart pounded in his chest. “B-but, Tarzan, I’m… I’m not Mangani!”

Tarzan released him and looked away for a moment, eyes unseeing. “Then Bucky stay… with Tarzan.”

Bucky sat up further, closing the distance between them. “What do you mean, Tarzan?”

“My Bucky,” he whispered, reaching up and touching Bucky’s cheek. “Be my Bucky.”

Bucky took a deep breath and leaned into Tarzan’s hand. “Yours.”

A blinding smile overtook Tarzan’s features and Bucky couldn’t look away. “Bucky stay?”

Bucky felt a little queasy. Tarzan was relentless and Bucky knew he wouldn’t let this go. But, if he was being honest with himself, Bucky didn’t _want_ him to. He’d known for days that, if given the chance, he would choose Tarzan over anything – and _anyone_ else.

“Yes,” he finally murmured, locking eyes with Tarzan’s. “Of course, I’ll stay.”

Tarzan inhaled sharply and huffed, using his handhold on Bucky’s face to pull him nearer, as if to share a secret. He pressed their foreheads together and, quietly, admitted, “I’m… not Mangani.” Bucky’s breathing picked up. “But I’m not a man like… like that one. The one who hurt Bucky.”

Bucky shook his head, trying to move impossibly closer. “No, Tarzan, you’re nothing like him.”

“You aren’t either,” Tarzan pointed out. “Bucky is… a good man.”

He flinched at the term but he wrestled that shame back into its dark place. He remembered the words that Rebecca had said to him and he breathed them in, soothing the wounds as they’d begun to scab over. Not healed, no – but _healing_.

“Thank you,” he whispered and maybe he meant it both for Tarzan and Rebecca – maybe he even meant it for himself.

“Bucky, come,” Tarzan exclaimed, suddenly, and grabbed a hold of Bucky’s wrist. “Like Mangani!” He exclaimed and Bucky allowed himself to be drug to his feet and led out of the cave and into the harsh sunlight.

Bucky gasped as soon as his eyes began to adjust. If he’d walked a few more feet, he’d have fallen off a steep cliff into the jungle below. If he could recall the height of the trees correctly, Bucky knew that they were at least sixty meters in the air – maybe higher.

“Tarzan,” he gasped, jerking backward.

“Bucky safe,” Tarzan said, turning to Bucky fully. “Bucky safe with Tarzan.”

His look was so earnest, Bucky couldn’t help but believe what he was saying. “Okay,” he replied, finally, and stepped close to Tarzan again. “Okay, I trust you.”

Tarzan beamed at him and wrapped one arm around Bucky’s waist. “Bucky, [jump with me.]”

Bucky inhaled sharply – he’d had an inkling that this was what Tarzan had intended but to hear it spoken out loud was different. Again, though, Tarzan’s expression was open and excited; he’d looked the same when they climbed into the canopy for Bucky to sketch birds.

“Yes,” he agreed, and Tarzan’s eyes sparkled.

Before he could let himself think more on what they were about to do, Bucky and Tarzan ran toward the cliff’s edge and leapt into the air. It was barely a breath before they entered the trees and not even a second later, Tarzan reached out for a vine. Bucky mimicked his action and gripped the first one he could reach.

Rather than falling straight down and slamming into the ground, Bucky flew between the trees like a – well, like a wild man. “Good!” Tarzan called and Bucky looked over to find him almost level. “Like this!” He shouted and released his own vine to fly toward another one.

When Bucky’s vine reached its peak, he released and took hold of the next one, following Tarzan’s instructions. Something occurred to Bucky after the third time he repeated these steps – his arms _weren’t tired_. He was not wearing out or weakening. His upper body had never been slight but – in this heat and humidity, in this terrain – he’d become exhausted after a fairly short time.

He had no idea how far they had traveled but, when he glanced behind them, he could no longer see the rocky cliffs they’d jumped off of. When he looked ahead, he could clearly make out the rundown shack that he’d woken up in before.

“[Square tree,]” Tarzan called and Bucky nodded, reaching for another vine to swing nearer.

He realized, then, that he had no idea how to _stop_ swinging. Bucky’s panic seemed to draw Tarzan’s attention because, suddenly, a strong arm was wrapped around Bucky’s waist. Turning his head, Bucky found Tarzan smiling at him warmly.

“Hold, Bucky,” he said and Bucky nodded, turning in Tarzan’s grip to wrap his arms around Tarzan’s neck.

It was almost that very next moment that Bucky felt Tarzan release the vine and they began to fall. He closed his eyes and held a little tighter, trusting Tarzan to keep him safe. Their bodies jerked a bit when Tarzan gripped another vine but within a few seconds, Bucky felt solid earth beneath his feet.

But he couldn’t let go yet and Tarzan didn’t seem inclined to separate right away either. They stood together, arms wrapped tightly around one another, and Bucky finally allowed the reality of his situation to fall over him.

He’d been _dying_ – he knew he might choke on his own blood, if it all didn’t seep out of him into the dirt first. But Tarzan _saved his life_. He’d shared a sacred herb, one that healed his wounds and made him stronger, made him faster and more resilient.

Made him strong enough to live at Tarzan’s side.

“Tarzan,” he whispered. “Stay with me?”

He felt Tarzan’s smile against his neck. “I stay with Bucky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? <3
> 
> Next chapter may include a bit more ;D If you get my drift.


	11. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did promise, didn't I? ;) Note the tags.

Bucky had been seated on the floor of the shack when Tarzan returned, carrying a hefty load of fruit, bamboo, and the leaves they’d eaten before. Tarzan crouched down across from Bucky and tried to let the food fall to the ground in a pile. When the mangoes and papayas rolled away, however, both Bucky and Tarzan scrambled to grab them all.

Bucky laughed as he collected them; he glanced up to find similar amusement on Tarzan’s face as well.

In their rush to gather the wayward food, they must have moved closer together; once it was all set in front of them, Bucky realized that Tarzan’s knee was pressed against the outer part of his thigh. He took a deep breath and kept his eyes focused on the ground.

When he reached for a mango, Tarzan swooped in and grabbed it first; ripping it open, he offered Bucky half with a triumphant expression. Bucky initially reached for it but, after a split second’s thought, he grabbed one of his own and tore into it.

It felt like tearing bread off of a loaf; like breaking into a banana with the peel on.

He gulped in surprise at his own strength but, when he looked at Tarzan, he only found pride looking back at him. With a bit of fruit in his mouth, Tarzan said, “Bucky strong like _me_.”

“You got that right,” he muttered, looking at the two uneven halves spilling juice all over his hands.

He dug in immediately, realizing only then that he was _starving_. He couldn’t determine if the hunger was a result of his near-death experience or from his new… strength. Trying not to consider either option, Bucky finished the mango, a papaya, and then began eating the leaves and bamboo.

When they finished, surrounded by the leavings of their meal, Tarzan touched Bucky’s face with sticky fingers. “My Bucky,” he murmured, happily, leaning forward to run his nose along Bucky’s cheek.

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckled, letting his eyes fall shut. “Yours.”

For a few moments more, they explored one another freely. It was the first time that Bucky could remember ever feeling that way – joyful and content.

“Can we go rinse off?” He asked, leaning away a bit to meet Tarzan’s gaze.

Without answering, Tarzan took Bucky’s hand in his and pulled him to his feet. They rushed out of the shack and ran through the jungle. They trekked for nearly a mile, Bucky was sure, before they reached a river; its water was deep and flowed slowly enough that there was no risk of being swept downstream.

Bucky stood for a moment, unsure of what to do; without asking, Tarzan approached him and unbuttoned his pants deftly. “Clean,” he explained, pushing the trousers down Bucky’s thighs.

He inhaled sharply, feeling both vulnerable and enthusiastic. Before the garment even reached the ground, though, Tarzan had stepped into the water. Bucky heard him gasp when the cool water touched his more sensitive skin but, otherwise, he made his way into the deepest part and splashed water on his face and chest.

Bucky fought to get his boots off so he could remove his pants completely, then he raced into the river. He hissed at the chill but acclimated quicker than he expected to; within a few seconds, he was able to begin rinsing himself off as well.

He paid special attention to his armpits and groin, though without soap there was only so much he could do. The difference was rather obvious – the sweat and filth rinsed away and he was even able to scrub his face and scalp. When he looked up, Tarzan was watching him with an avid interest; this look was far more intense than the look he’d had the first time he’d observed Bucky bathe.

He was flushed and his breathing was heavier; he began to make his way nearer and Bucky gulped. There was something incredibly fierce in his advance, as if Bucky were prey he’d been hunting for days and was, _finally_ , caught in Tarzan’s snare.

“Tarzan,” Bucky breathed as approached.

Large hands held Bucky’s face still as Tarzan stared down at him, eyes wide and suddenly uncertain. _Oh, no_ , Bucky thought, _don’t stop_. His entire body seemed to ignite all at once and he gripped Tarzan’s shoulders, feeling the muddy riverbed beneath them grow slippery.

“Tarzan,” he said again, “let’s go back now.”

Those eyes flashed and, before Bucky fully understood what was happening, Tarzan had picked him up, a rather inelegant image considering their nudity.

Within a few minutes, they’d returned to the shack and Tarzan let Bucky down. For a moment, Bucky’s brain raced as he tried to recall where he’d left his bag but, by some miracle, he found it set in the corner. He hurried to it and yanked it open, digging for the small wooden box.

He could feel Tarzan’s slow approach but he tried to stay focused on his task – he _needed_ to find that container. At last, he felt the sharp corner of it and he yanked it free, turning to show Tarzan, but he stopped.

In the light that streamed in from the damaged roof, Tarzan appeared to glow. His golden skin was flushed and he breathed heavily through his mouth. Inhaling deeply, Bucky reached a hand out and smiled.

Tarzan gulped audibly and stepped impossibly nearer, reaching up to touch Bucky’s face and neck. “Bucky,” he whispered, “my Bucky?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Bucky nodded his head. “All yours.”

“Bucky likes kissing?” Tarzan asked with a tone so gentle, Bucky wondered if Tarzan was afraid he might scare him off.

This idea was almost comical, though. Bucky would never let go if he could help it.

“I love kissing,” he answered, though he had very little experience with it if he was being honest. It was clear, though, that would be rectified if Tarzan had anything to do with it.

With one final look – as if Tarzan wanted to be sure that Bucky was alright – he pressed his chapped lips to Bucky’s and dug his fingers in Bucky’s short hair. It was quick and chaste but Bucky could have no doubts about what it meant. Tarzan didn’t pull far away and he maintained eye contact.

“I… I am in love… with Bucky,” he said, quietly and his voice shook with uncertainty.

Reaching up, Bucky touched Tarzan’s wild hair and traced his fingers along Tarzan’s nose to his lips. “Tarzan,” he began, adjusting himself so he could hold Tarzan with both hands. “I… I love you, too,” he breathed.

Tarzan beamed down at him. “Bucky in love?”

Those blue eyes held Bucky’s with a magnetism he couldn’t escape. It was like looking at the stars, into the vast cosmos, and finding that someone was looking back. There was something in his expression, something that softened all the hard lines in his face, and the years melted away. Tarzan was gentle and kind; he protected humans even when he hated and feared them; he shared his food and home, his secrets, and his strength.

“God, yes,” Bucky confirmed before tugging Tarzan into a brief kiss.

When Bucky pulled away, he didn’t get far. Tarzan’s hand snaked up behind his head and held him possessively at the back of the neck. Their eyes were locked on one another as he pulled Bucky in, totally in command, and kissed him harder than ever before.

Bucky let the box fall to the floor but the loud sound barely registered for either of them.

Tarzan was not skilled but he was enthusiastic and clearly enjoyed the act. He couldn’t seem to get enough. Bucky tilted his head and Tarzan gasped a small breath, then kissed him again, harder.

When Bucky parted his lips and tasted the flavors of sweet mango and bamboo, he released a groan he hadn’t meant to.

It seemed, however, that Tarzan enjoyed the sound as his grip tightened and suddenly their bodies were pressed together. Bucky felt Tarzan’s erection pressing against his naked skin for the first time and he shivered in anticipation of what might happen - what he desperately hoped would happen.

The question of whether it would or not was answered when Tarzan gripped Bucky’s left thigh and hefted him bodily up, while his other hand remained pressed against the back of Bucky’s neck. It wasn’t until then that Bucky even realized he was hard too.

“Ah!” He cried out, digging his nails into Tarzan’s shoulders. “More,” he moaned and wrapped his bare thighs around Tarzan’s hips.

“More?” Tarzan asked in a hoarse voice.

“More,” Bucky confirmed, nipping at Tarzan’s lips.

“Bucky,” Tarzan breathed as shivers wracked his body.

Bucky had no chance to respond before Tarzan had him on the bed, grinding their bodies together hard and fast. Bucky’s toes curled as he came, suddenly, releasing shocked, harsh cries. Tarzan groaned and sped up his movements; their sweat combined with Bucky’s come smoothed the way for Tarzan’s own release. His desperate moans faded but, to Bucky’s surprise and delight, his erection did not.

“Again,” Bucky panted, reaching for the wooden box. “But this time,” he went on, “like this.”

Tarzan watched him produce the small jar of petroleum jelly and his pupils dilated, almost completely concealing his irises. Bucky had no idea how Tarzan might know what he meant but he seemed to understand completely.

Taking the jar from Bucky’s hand, Tarzan pushed his chest until he lie down again. “Bucky,” he whispered, “more?”

At that moment, Bucky realized what Tarzan was really asking: _Is this what you want?_

“Yes,” he said, letting his thighs fall open. His body felt hot as Tarzan looked him over and, when his eyes fell on Bucky’s exposed ass, Bucky knew he was blushing. “Tarzan,” he breathed out, “ _more_.”

Tarzan opened the jar and looked at the contents curiously. He dipped the tip of his pointer finger into it and brought it to his lips before Bucky could stop him. He immediately spat it out, shoving the container at Bucky with a deep frown.

“No, you do this,” Bucky explained, touching it with two fingers and smearing some around.

Bucky looked up, meeting Tarzan’s gaze as he brought his hand down between his legs. Tarzan watched with wide, eager eyes as Bucky slipped one finger inside himself.

“You use one, then two fingers,” he went on before glancing at Tarzan’s engorged cock. “Maybe three,” he added, feeling slightly uncertain.

Tarzan blinked at him, then nodded. “I want to try,” he requested in a breathy voice.

Smiling, Bucky took hold of Tarzan’s wrist and lifted the jar again. Tarzan dipped his fingers in the jelly then mimicked Bucky’s ministrations. Biting his lip, Bucky led Tarzan down between his legs.

Like with everything else, Tarzan mastered this new skill quickly. Within a minute, Bucky was gasping and moaning, trying to bear down and take more.

“Another one,” he begged. “Tarzan, another.”

Without hesitation, Tarzan pressed a second finger in alongside the first; he didn’t stop until his knuckles fit against Bucky’s perineum. While Bucky’s breathing was hoarse, Tarzan’s was downright discordant – his broad chest rose and fell as if he’d just run several miles. His eyes were wide and dark as he watched Bucky writhe in pleasure beneath him.

Before Bucky had to ask for it, Tarzan pressed a third finger in alongside the others, though Bucky’s hiss of pain halted his advance. “Bucky hurt?” He asked, though his voice was gravelly and cracked.

Shaking his head, Bucky rasped, “No, not hurt. Keep going.”

Tarzan faltered for a moment longer before he pushed his fingers all the way inside. Bucky angled his hips, using his hands to pull his knees up, and when Tarzan twisted his wrist, Bucky cried out.

“Again!” He gasped, raggedly. “There, Tarzan.” Nodding, Tarzan put his free hand on the back of Bucky’s right thigh, helping to maintain his position as he began pounding Bucky’s prostate with his fingers. “Uhn, uhn, uhn,” Bucky groaned, desperately, feeling pre-cum dripping onto his abdomen. “Tarzan, please, more, _please_.”

He’d hardly finished the last word before Tarzan’s fingers disappeared. Bucky’s eyes shot open but he had no chance to react. Two strong hands gripped his hips and flipped his body over, then began pushing and pulling on his hips and thighs. The feeling of Tarzan manhandling Bucky’s body how he wanted it made him _moan_.

This was what he’d always wanted.

At last, he lie on his stomach with his legs spread wide and his hips tilted just slightly. “Bucky,” Tarzan murmured as he shifted, pressing the head of his dick against Bucky’s loose ass.

“P-please, Tarzan,” he begged.

Tarzan thrust forward, though not enough to penetrate Bucky. Desperate, Bucky tried to take him in, using his arms to push backward, but a firm, though gentle hand pressed into the center of his back, then slid up to his neck, holding him in place, possessively.

“My Bucky,” he rasped as he drove the blunt head of his dick past the loosened ring of muscle, then he _groaned_ , deep and dark as he pushed further inside.

“Oh shit,” Bucky moaned, gripping the wooden frame of the bed. “Oh, fuck, Tarzan,” he rambled, “Yours, all yours.”

When Tarzan was fully seated, he released a groan so obscene, Bucky’s dick twitched. It was still hard, regardless of the burn he felt; he’d done this once before, though the man had been much smaller than Tarzan. He couldn’t remember it hurting so much but, at the same time, he knew how _good_ it could be.

“M-move, Tarzan, please,” he begged, trying to shift his body but the pressure at the back of his neck held him fast.

“No,” Tarzan rumbled, gripping Bucky’s hip with his other hand. “Not yet.”

Bucky whined then, feeling desperate and needy, but he forced himself to relax. This was Tarzan’s first time, he realized, and Bucky’s body went hot all over at that realization. _I’m his first at_ everything, Bucky thought to himself.

“T-Tarzan, kiss me,” he whispered, turning his head.

Without removing the hand from Bucky’s neck, Tarzan leaned down and captured Bucky’s lips in a heated, passionate, and slightly sloppy kiss. The change in position also pressed Tarzan’s dick against Bucky’s prostate, and his breathing changed to a sob. Unintentionally, Bucky tightened up and Tarzan moaned; he thrust his hips hard against Bucky, but then held still again.

His free hand covered Bucky’s on the bed frame and he laced their fingers together in a gesture that made Bucky’s heart squeeze.

“T-Tarzan, I love you,” he murmured though he was cut off by his own moans when Tarzan pulled out and slammed back in. “Uhn!” He cried out.

Bucky had never once in his life experienced something like this – there was pain, a burning ache inside him, but there was also _pleasure_ , so much pleasure. His eyes rolled back in his head and he wanted to move but Tarzan’s strength kept him pressed down, and Bucky had never been so aroused in his life. Even if he had eaten that herb, Tarzan was _still_ stronger than him and there were many reasons why that might be, but Bucky’s brain couldn’t function enough to comprehend them at that moment.

With each thrust, Tarzan’s hips slapped against Bucky’s thighs, his cock dragged against Bucky’s prostate, and he squeezed Bucky’s hand. Bucky’s own dick was leaking pre-cum constantly, soaking the bedding beneath him as he released desperate cries.

The tight coiling in his abdomen became more intense and he gasped out, “G-gonne come, Tarzan! Don’t stop!”

Tarzan growled, thrusting harder than before; he released Bucky’s neck and pressed his hand against Bucky’s lower back. This forced his hips to arch and ensured that each of Tarzan’s thrusts hit Bucky’s prostate.

Bucky lost track of time and space – all he knew was the way Tarzan felt against him, inside him, all around him. He was boxed in by Tarzan’s bulk, held together by Tarzan’s presence. He’d nearly died and come back from the other side with new knowledge, a new truth – one that allowed him to give everything to Tarzan, to give _himself_ to Tarzan.

When he came, his vision went white and he released a choked out sob; his fingers tightened on Tarzan’s and he felt his ass clench down on Tarzan’s cock.

“Bucky, oh, Bucky,” Tarzan groaned, picking up the pace as he fucked Bucky through the most amazing, intense orgasm of his entire life.

Bucky’s body went slack, though his cries continued as Tarzan rammed his prostate with each thrust. He was by no means done with Bucky and that knowledge made his dick twitch. There was no way he could get hard again, _could he_?

It was barely a minute before his question was answered – _yes, he could_. Before Bucky could think too long on it, though, Tarzan pulled out and Bucky’s gasp turned into a whine. “P-please,” he begged but Tarzan ignored him.

He grabbed Bucky’s hips and flipped him over again so he lay on his back. He could feel the come smearing all over his skin but he couldn’t bring himself to care at that moment. Tarzan pushed Bucky’s thighs up against his chest with one hand while his other angled his dick back toward Bucky’s ass.

It stung a bit when he pushed in but Bucky hardly felt it. “Bucky feels so good,” Tarzan moaned, eyebrows furrowed in a look of almost helpless pleasure that lit a fire in Bucky’s belly.

Maintaining eye contact, Tarzan pulled out a bit and thrust back in, releasing a low, gravelly moan. Bucky’s every breath had turned into desperate whimpers as Tarzan slammed into his prostate over and over, sending powerful shocks through his system. He was already oversensitive but each time Tarzan thrust in, his body jerked as if it needed to get away.

That was not something Tarzan intended to allow, it seemed. He leaned over Bucky’s body again and pressed his hand down on Bucky’s sternum. It had been the one that held his legs in place but, now, Bucky’s shins and knees were pressed against a hard, tan abdomen. This new angle provided even more direct stimulation while simultaneously rubbing Bucky’s dick between his abdomen and thighs.

His eyes rolled back in his head and blood rushed in his ears. He was going to come again and it was going to hurt, but it would be like no orgasm he’d ever had before – and this was only their _first time_.

“Oh, God,” he cried out, suddenly exhilarated by the idea that this could get _better_.

“Bucky,” Tarzan growled and Bucky looked up. His blue eyes were wild and his hair fell around his face and shoulders; he emanated power and danger, but Bucky had never felt more protected, more cared for, in his life.

“Tarzan,” Bucky moaned, reaching up and pulling him into a hot, wet kiss.

Tarzan’s hips stuttered for a moment but then he regained his momentum. His hand shifted from Bucky’s chest to his neck, gripping it tight and using it as a means of pulling Bucky into each thrust.

“Ah!” Bucky cried out; suddenly his orgasm hit and he was coming all over his chest and thighs, coming so hard it hurt but, _Dear God, don’t let it end_!

“Bucky,” Tarzan said again, his voice harsh as he slammed into Bucky one last time, rolling his hips as Bucky felt hot come pulse inside him. “ _My Bucky_.”

“Yours,” he agreed, twitching from overstimulation. “M-my Tarzan?” He stuttered.

“All yours,” he agreed, pressing a sleepy kiss to Bucky’s forehead.

Tarzan slipped out of Bucky, causing them both to moan. Bucky expected Tarzan to come up alongside him, to kiss him more and fall asleep, but he didn’t do that. Instead, Tarzan moved down Bucky’s body and pushed his shaking legs up once more.

“Tarzan!” He shouted, trying to sit up when the flat of Tarzan’s tongue licked over his hole. “Oh, oh my God, oh, sh-shit, Tarzan,” he rambled, both desperate to push into the feeling and escape from it. “What are you doing?” He asked and Tarzan lifted his head up a bit.

“[Cleaning you,]” he explained patiently. “[You’re a mess.]”

“Ah, _thanks_ ,” Bucky grumbled and Tarzan yanked his thighs, forcing Bucky to lie back before he went back to licking Bucky’s ass.

There was pain – of course there would be – but there was pleasure too. Bucky didn’t know if he could handle much more of either but there was an almost primal satisfaction emanating from Tarzan as he worked. He’d pleased his lover and was cleaning him up, and Bucky was merely expected to enjoy it.

With each swipe of his tongue, Tarzan released soft little moans that made Bucky’s face burn with embarrassment. He was licking up his own – his own – “T-Tarzan,” Bucky pleaded, sitting up and reaching for him.

Tarzan grinned as he crawled up Bucky’s body. Without hesitation, Bucky pulled him into a kiss, which was something Bucky had never once imagined himself doing. The taste was bitter but he explored Tarzan’s mouth with the same enthusiasm that Tarzan had employed.

Bucky had sucked a few cocks before; he’d tasted come, but this was entirely different. This was _filthy_ , _obscene_ even.

But, _dear God,_ he wanted more.

“Wanna suck you,” Bucky murmured into Tarzan’s mouth.

He pulled back, looking confused. “Suck me?”

Bucky nodded, using Tarzan’s distraction as an opportunity to try out his own strength. It was obvious when he grabbed Tarzan’s shoulders and flung him, that he went willingly. He chuckled as he lie back on the bed.

His eyes followed Bucky’s descent as he pressed open mouthed kisses along Tarzan’s chest, ribs, abdomen, and to his hips. Bucky grinned at him as he took Tarzan’s dick in his hand licked a stripe up the length of it.

Tarzan’s eyes went wide as he watched, then he threw his head back. All at once, two hands were gripping Bucky’s hair and his hips tried to thrust into Bucky’s mouth, but Bucky held them against the bed.

He took Tarzan into his mouth and slowly worked him all the way in, then bobbed his head up and down a few times before pulling off. He licked and sucked Tarzan’s balls, his perineum – which Tarzan seemed to enjoy a great deal – before taking the head back inside his mouth.

“B-Bucky,” he gasped, furrowing his brows as he watched intently.

It wasn’t long before Tarzan’s grip on Bucky’s hair tightened, forcing a shocked moan from Bucky’s throat. In that moment, Tarzan broke free of the weakened hold Bucky had on his hips and thrust upward. He groaned, deep and animal, as he came in Bucky’s mouth, down his throat.

Bucky’s eyes watered and his jaw ached, but he loved it.

After a few seconds more, Tarzan released him and Bucky pulled away, gulping in air. “Oh, my God,” he gasped, wiping the tears and spit off of his face with the back of his hand.

“I want to...” Tarzan began, sitting up, “suck you too.”

Inexplicably, Bucky’s dick twitched – no matter how tired he felt. He shook his head, though. “Later,” he suggested. “I’m tired.”

Tarzan nodded his head and smiled. “Come,” he said, taking Bucky’s hand and pulling him to lie down. “Sleep now,” he murmured as Bucky settled against him.

He didn’t have to ask twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooftah. I do not have an explanation for the sexual acts that occurred in this chapter, though I do hope no one wants an apology after reading it.
> 
> Thank you so much to dixons_mama for your help with this entire story - and many others!


	12. Chapter 11 - Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been so pleased and grateful for the praise, art, comments, and kudos this fic has received! I never thought it would be so loved. It was more a niche idea I had that I figured a lot of people would think was weird but the overall commentary has been very positive.  
> Thank you all for reading, commenting, leaving kudos, and sticking with me. <3
> 
> Now, please enjoy...

Hours passed and Bucky must have fallen asleep. When next he came into awareness, he realized that Tarzan was crouched over him, looking down at him with a mix of contentment and curiosity.

“Bucky’s dreams must be happy,” he commented.

“What makes you say that?” Bucky asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Bucky smiles,” Tarzan explained, “and whispers my name.”

Bucky couldn’t help the splotchy blush that must have covered his face and chest; he had no clothes to cover it with either. “Y-yeah, well you probably dream about me, too.”

“I do,” Tarzan admitted easily. “Every night.”

Bucky’s eyes widened at the confession, though it didn’t sound as if Tarzan ever intended to conceal it. It was clear that Tarzan never kept secrets or lied – he didn’t seem to understand the purpose of it. Touching Bucky’s cheek, Tarzan leaned down to kiss him. It was slow and almost chaste, though not quite.

Nothing Tarzan did to Bucky could be considered totally innocent.

He pulled away and smiled, moving away from where Bucky lay on the ground.

“Where are we going?” Bucky asked when Tarzan stood up.

“Back to the others,” Tarzan explained.

Bucky followed his lead, getting off of the nest Tarzan had made for them. The leaves and other flora left indentations on Bucky, turning his skin green in places, but it was a small price to pay.

The marks that Tarzan left would remain for far longer.

Bucky wiped his face and took a few deep breaths. “Okay,” he replied. “Let’s go.”

Tarzan’s smile was bright and beautiful as he took Bucky’s hand. “Come.”

They walked into the jungle for several meters before Tarzan stopped at a tree; he took hold of a vine and handed it to Bucky. Thinking for a moment, Bucky asked, “Will it be… alright for me to come?” Tarzan cocked his head in confusion. “I mean, to _stay_?” Again, Tarzan remained silent, as if waiting for Bucky to explain further. “I’m asking if… will they… accept me?”

His expression must have clued Tarzan in to his fears, which Bucky believed were well-founded. Upon his first introduction to the Mangani, Kerchak had tried to attack him, then Akut had chased him down. They were suspicious of him and he perfectly understood why.

He was an outsider – a stranger.

But Tarzan only smiled brighter. “They are expecting us.”

* * *

“Oh, God, Tarzan,” Bucky sighed as he dropped down, taking more of Tarzan’s dick inside him. Bucky leaned back a bit, putting his weight on his hands as they gripped Tarzan’s huge, straining thighs. “Feels so good,” he moaned out when he was fully seated.

Tarzan’s hands were shaking as he reached out and touched Bucky, starting with his chest, paying special attention to his nipples, then along the grooves of his ribs, over his belly, to his hips.

Bucky could hardly breathe. It had _never_ been this good – nothing could compare, not even the fantasies that had always made him feel awful and ashamed.

He couldn’t help the shiver that rolled through him, or the way his body clenched up as it did. Tarzan let out a desperate groan, tightening his grip on Bucky’s hips and thrusting up.

“B-Bucky,” he gasped, “it’s too much! Bucky!”

Realizing he was actually hurting Tarzan helped Bucky relax his body. Tarzan let out a relieved whoosh of air and his head fell back against the nest of leaves he had made for them.

“S-sorry, sorry,” Bucky managed, taking deep breaths to stay calm.

Shaking his head, Tarzan replied, “Better now. So good.”

Bucky nodded and raised himself up, inch by inch, before dropping down again. Tarzan hissed and arched his back which shifted the angle just a bit. When Bucky repeated the movement again, he cried out in pleasure, and dug his nails into Tarzan’s thighs.

“Like that, yes,” he begged. “Again, please, again!”

Tarzan growled, gripping Bucky’s hips before planting one of his feet and rolling them over. He pulled out of Bucky, shushing him when he whined, and then maneuvered Bucky onto his belly. Tarzan yanked Bucky’s body until his ass was in the air and Tarzan guided his dick into his entrance.

“Please,” Bucky whispered.

“Yes, my Bucky,” he sighed as he pushed all the way inside.

They had long since run out of Bucky’s jelly and had to find natural alternatives. Luckily, Tarzan knew where to find aloe plants and the gel worked just as well. It had been nearly a month since Bucky’s brush with death and they hadn’t stopped having sex – apart from migrating with the troop and eating, of course.

Having left his clothes in the shack, Bucky was still trying to embrace his nudity. The way that Tarzan so effortlessly moved about, wholly unaware, made Bucky nervous.

But it did have its benefits, he could admit.

Tarzan planted his hand possessively on the back of Bucky’s neck as he began to thrust. Bucky dug his fingers into the dirt, moaning at the sensation of being _so full_. The jungle seemed to go silent as they fucked, apart from the sounds they made. Tarzan grunted and Bucky cried out as they worked up to Bucky’s second orgasm.

When it hit, it crashed over Bucky like a wave and he whimpered as Tarzan’s thrusts only became harder and faster. It was too much but not enough – he couldn’t take it and yet he wanted more.

He could never have enough.

“Bucky,” Tarzan groaned, burying himself in Bucky’s ass as he came.

“My Tarzan,” Bucky murmured as they shifted onto their sides.

“Yours,” Tarzan agreed, pressing kisses along Bucky’s shoulders. “Always.”

* * *

_Epilogue_

_Birnin Zana 1869_

_Dear Mr. Barton,_

_I understand that you are the attorney who has overseen the estate of Lord and Lady Rogers from America. Thirty-some years ago, they shipwrecked off the coast of Africa near Wakanda and they have long been presumed dead._

_This is true as I have located their shelter as well as their remains. Included in this package, I have sent Lord Joseph Rogers’ journal and some legal documents for your review._

_You will note that these papers indicate that Lord and Lady Rogers were blessed with a son, a living heir to their estate. This child, Steven Rogers, survived his parents and now lives an… eccentric life in the Wakandan jungle._

_He has no interest in the property that passes to him and it is my recommendation it be sold. The funds can be sent to Wakanda via the route I have provided and will allow him to continue living as he always has._

_Steven may be happy to meet with anyone he may need to in order to complete this transaction, though he was raised in a fashion far removed from your Western customs._

_Please inform my Dora Milaje if you intend to travel to Wakanda that I may secure your passage into the capitol._

_Yours faithfully,_

_His Majesty, King T’Challa of Wakanda_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of thoughts about continuing with smaller side-fics, like a little series of adventure stories. What would you all think? If you have scenes from Tarzan's POV you would like to see, PLEASE reach out and let me know!!  
> (There'll def be more smut because that's what I do.)  
> Again, thank you for your kudos, comments, shares, and everything else. The artists created beautiful works and I'm so grateful to them. I'm grateful to my betas and all of you who've read from the beginning. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Thank you to Informative_Dandy for the wonderful art of Steve/Tarzan!
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/humapuma) or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/humapuma817)! I love talking about Stucky, fanfics, and just getting to know people.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Greystroke - Steve Rogers - Fan Art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20214976) by [Informative_Dandy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Informative_Dandy/pseuds/Informative_Dandy)




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